


With Unbending Grace and Fine-Woven Will

by Vera (Vera_DragonMuse)



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-05
Updated: 2010-08-05
Packaged: 2017-10-10 23:19:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 26,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/105514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera_DragonMuse/pseuds/Vera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her story. His story. Their story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. With Unbending Grace

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story written in three distinctive parts and styles.

The line extended back out towards the exit.

"Where are you headed?"

For a split second, she contemplated not turning around. She could continue staring ahead, her long slog slowly draining her will to live. She could pretend that real life would go back to being enough.

"Paris." She turned and smiled wanly. "You?"

"Work." He tilted his head only a few degrees towards her, everything in moderation. "I'll be needing a new partner."

"What kind of job?" She asked, but already she was stepping away from the line. "What about Cobol? Aren't they still after you?"

"That's been cleared up by our mutual benefactor." He took her suitcase and wheeled it out to the curb. "It's a simple extraction."

A car pulled up and he opened the door. Without hesitation, she got in and breathed out a sigh of relief as solid metal and the darkened windows cut off sight and sound of the outside world.

When he slid into the seat next to her, she caught a faint whiff of aftershave . It was spicy, but not overpowering. She couldn't remember smelling it in the dreams. Unconsciously, her fingers strayed to her pocket, fingering her bishop.

"The job is in Seattle." He talked at the opaque piece of glass that separated them from the driver, avoiding her eyes. "A young woman may have seen something she wasn't supposed too. The criminal attorney has persuaded his client that it would be best to see if they are correct before ordering in a hit man."

"That's generous." She said, not able to keep the bitterness entirely out her voice. "And if she has?"

"Than we tell him."

"Right." It was becoming abundantly clear that her single undergraduate class in ethics was not sufficient to escaping these moral quandaries. "I see."

"I had hoped that you would." His lips lifted in a sketch of a smile.

~*~

Sand was difficult to get right and she was proud of how authentic it looked and felt as she walked towards the isolated beach house. Over her earpiece, his voice is rising and falling.

"Why are you crying, miss?" He was saying.

"I don't know!" The mark's voice wailed.

Various beach goers passed her by, but by now Ariadne had learned to ignore them. There was no Mal in this woman's mind, no highly trained subconscious force. It would take them time to notice her and longer to do anything about it.

"Here take my handkerchief." He was saying. "Look at that house up there, isn't it beautiful?"

"Yes." The woman said, clearly a little dazed. "It's...mine, I think."

"Very private. A good place to hide out and lie low."

"Yes!" She said again more brightly. "It's very safe there."

Ariadne picked her way up the stairs. They hadn't bothered with much complication. The layout of the house was twisty, but logical. She followed in carefully, counting turns until she came to a large bedroom that overlooked the sea.

"What's your favorite room?" He asked.

"Oh, the bedroom." She said with a light titter. "It's so high up! And it has a great view."

"You must feel very secure up there, tucked away."

"You must be very hot in that suit, Mr..." The mark purred.

He had advised against a safe when she'd started designing. The mark wouldn't think to hide things that way in her own home. Instead, getting down on all fours, she looked under the over-sized bed. There was something underneath. She flattened herself down and started to wiggled.

"Did I not introduce myself?" He asked. "How very rude of me."

Her fingers brushed the edges and with final stretch, she grasped it and pulled it out. It was a light wood with a unicorn painted on top.

"Very rude." The mark laughed again. "I'm Miranda."

She'd come prepared to shoot off a lock, but found that the clasp was loose and only took a judicious application of her fingernail to pry open.

"A pleasure." He said.

There were a series of photographs inside. The very first one was a scene so terrible, Ariadne had to rest her head against the mattress, eyes closed. She had to remind herself forcefully that there was a job to do. Carefully, she turned back, tried to distance herself and looked with care through each photo. They were awful, nauseating, but nothing to do with the crime.

Distantly, she could still hear their conversation, now turned to the sunset and the tiny umbrellas in their drinks. With a shaking hand, she put a finger to her collar.

"Job complete."

"Please excuse me." He said. "I really must take this call."

Carefully, she piled the pictures back into the box and thrust it under the bed. Standing, she waited for the brief vertigo to pass before making her way outside. He was waiting by the entrance.

"Good job." He really should have looked ridiculous, standing on piles of white sand in a crisp suit. "We still have some time left."

"Oh." She looked out over the ocean. "So do we shoot ourselves?"

"No need for dramatics." He offered her his arm. "We can go for a walk."

"Why?" She asked, slipping her hand around his bicep. "Isn't it better to get out as fast as possible?"

"Sometimes." He led her down the steps to the sea. "We're not currently under any threat."

She slipped off her shoes and left them on the wooden steps. The wet sand felt good between her toes.

"There were photos." She said quietly.

"Best wait until we're awake." His leather shoes were getting soaked, but he seemed not to notice.

His arm felt solid and warm under her hand. Now that she knew to add it, she could smell hints of his cologne. The projections stared at them as they walked past, but Ariadne didn't feel menaced.

Curious, she looked over her shoulder to see if they were leaving behind footprints. A wave rolled in covering the places they had been and then she was waking up.

"How was your sleep, miss?" The young man who had monitored their sedation appeared before her, all smiles.

"Fine, thank you." She sat up slowly, trying to reorient herself.

They were in the mark's ( Miranda, she reminded herself) bedroom. Miranda was sleeping peacefully still, curled up under a quilt. Ariadne reached over and pulled the quilt further up the her shoulder.

"She didn't see anything." She said quietly, listening to him stir and waken behind her.

He didn't question her further. Instead, he made a phone call. Their minder packed up the sedation case, handed it back to her and disappeared into the night. If they were going to continue working together, they would need someone more dependable.

"We're finished here." He said when he hung up. They walked outside, into the waiting car.

"Where to now?" She asked.

"We wait for another offer." He smoothed his hand over his pants.

"Where?"

"Where would you like to go?"

"Oh." She bit her lip. "I'm hungry."

He took her to a dark restaurant that served twenty courses in five bite portions. She had mainly lived off of croissants and fast food thanks to the meek living expenses provided by her scholarship. It was a delight to taste things again that were full of hidden spices and subtle herbs. He ate with precision, wielding the tip of his knife like a surgeon.

"She had horrible things in there." She confessed on their second fish course. "Were they real?"

"They were real to her." He took a sip of water. "After that, who can say?"

"Next time, I'll be the distraction." She speared a strip of pink salmon with her fork. "You can do the extraction."

"If the job allows for it."

"You mean if it doesn't call for flirting with a beautiful woman?" She teased, sinking her teeth into the morsel with satisfaction.

"There are hardships in every profession."

She studied his face, but he had turned it downward, concentrating on his plate.

~*~

"Here." He said and slid her a plain white box.

She had been working on a tricky piece. It was meant to be a building larger inside than it was outside. A purely intellectual problem to break in her new tools and workspace. The rented space he'd found was spacious and cheap with two far flung bedrooms. Why Houston, she wasn't sure, but it was as good as anywhere else.

"Thank you."

Carefully, she set down her tools and took up the box. The top slid open to reveal a row of business cards. Both their names embossed in black on creamy card stock. There was no business name and only a cellphone number for contact information. She traced the lines of his last name, childishly surprised that he had one at all.

"You can only order them in large batches." He sat down across from her. "The number is a disposable. They won't be good for very long."

"That's all right." She slid a few into her wallet. "Do we have a job?"

"No. I'm waiting on a few leads." He ran a finger tip over her model.

"Then what do you want to do tonight?" She asked. He stared at her. "I can go sit alone in my bedroom again and watch TV until my brain rots, but I think it'd be nicer to do something."

"What would something be?" He sat back in his chair.

"I don't know. See a movie, or a show. Go to a museum. Anything."

She watched him while he considered this apparently novel idea. Since they had moved in here, only a week or so ago, she had become an anthropologist. She studied the dishes he left behind in the morning (clean, drying on a rack long before she woke up), tracked his sleeping patterns (early to bed, early to rise) and tried to make sense of his daily schedule (phone calls, computer work, disappearing for long stretches and returning with small offerings like business cards or fragrant lunches).

Usually by dinner time, he had tucked himself away into his room. She assumed that he ate at some point. Perhaps the dishes she assumed came from a very early breakfast were really the remains of a very late dinner. Her own dinner was generally from a box in the microwave eaten alone.

"The Fine Art museum is open late tonight." He said eventually.

She fled to her bedroom to change before he could say anything more. It was difficult to match his three piece suit neatness, but wearing her usual grad student casual put her at a disadvantage. She choose grey pinstripe slacks and a pink silky button down.

"You're ridiculous." She told her reflection. It smiled back at her, unrepentant. Then, just to be sure, she set down her totem and knocked it over. It fell obligingly.

"Ready?" She called out when she stepped back into their shared space.

"Yes." He was by the door already, holding it open for her.

They took a bus to the museum. It was crowded and they were forced to sit tightly together, their legs pressed in mock intimacy. She had to look out the window to hide her blush. It was ludicrous. She wasn't an innocent girl anymore without any idea of the world. Yet, peeking at him out of the corner of her eyes, she felt twelve again.

When they came to their stop, he offered her a hand up and let her take the lead. When they were jostled in the exiting crowd, he put his hand at the small of her back. With slight pressure, he guided her through the busy side walk and into the cool atrium of the museum.

"Two please." He murmured at the ticket counter, passing money to the teller before she could protest.

"I'm buying dinner."

"All right." He shrugged and headed towards the special exhibit on Rembrandt.

The paintings drew her in. She had seen a few before, scattered, but to see them all at once was hypnotising. Light seemed to pour from them, a bright candle in the darkness. He made a good companion, going ahead when he saw something of interest, returning to her side when she lingered without comment.

"Which one was your favorite?" She asked when they'd looked at them all.

"I generally prefer post-war British art, but....." He walked back down the long room to pause before an self-portrait, Artist in the Studio. "This one."

"Why?" She studied it. It was as well done as the others, but not otherwise remarkable.

"Because he makes himself smaller than the canvas." He said softly. "Compared to his art, he is insignificant."

"But he created the art itself." She stared at the painted artist, diminished in the background. "Without him, it doesn't exist."

"Perhaps. Which one do you like most?"

Excited, she showed him the sketch she had found of the storm encroaching on the village, how the vague buildings fired her imagination.

"Why are you an architect instead of an artist?" He asked suddenly. It was the first personal question she could remember him asking.

"Two reasons, mostly." She smiled. "The big, deep reason is that I didn't want my buildings to be flat on a canvas. I like the idea of people walking through my ideas. The second was that they generally make more money. "

"Mercenary." He said, but it didn't sound judgemental so she just nodded.

"I don't have a lot and the starving artist life never really appealed to me."

"Isn't architecture a form of art?"

"Yes though art to a definite purpose rather than an abstract one." She clasped her hands behind her back. "People can live in my art. Or...they would've, I suppose."

"I didn't think about it." He said softly, a deep line between his eyebrows. "What you might be giving up to do this."

She pushed a stray lock of hair over her ear. "I still choose this."

"Why?"

"Why do you?"

Silence. And that, she thought, was the first personal question she'd ever asked him. How could they work together when they barely knew each other?

"I was chosen while I was still at West Point. " He finally said. "At first, it was training simulations. Boring and repetitive. Then without warning they became harder, more complex. I was solving puzzles instead of shooting. Extracting. It took me months to realize that they weren't training me any more. The missions were real."

"Why would they do that?" She could feel her eyes widen.

"In a simulation, you act differently. You don't care what it takes to complete your goal. It's a game. A puzzle. " He studied the painting then shook his head. "I confronted them and was very quietly discharged."

"And now?" She prompted, not wanting this sudden well to run dry.

"Now...what else is there?" He turned slowly taking in the whole room. "This is what I know how to do."

"Was there something else you wanted to do? I mean, why did you go to West Point?"

"Good question." He gave her his faint smile. "It's getting late, we should get food."

"...all right."

With his usual impeccable taste (did he research these things in secret? or was this one of the places he procured their lunches from?), he guided her to a Cantonese restaurant. They shared a large bowl of rice , their chopsticks occasionally meeting and mingling before returning to their separate plates.

"What about family?" He asked after she swallowed a particularly spicy bite.

"What about them?" She asked, waving her hand in front of her mouth in a frantic attempt to cool it.

"Do you have one? Won't they miss you?"

"If I answer, so do you." She decided, eating rice to clear away the spice and waiting to see if he would back out.

"Five brothers, one deceased." He said, picking out a long piece of steamed chicken from his plate. "Parents both alive. I'm the black sheep of the family. I send postcards."

"The black sheep?" She set down her chopsticks. "Are the rest of them saints?"

"No. Military." He ate the chicken and looked at her expectantly.

"No siblings. My father died a long time ago." Somewhere behind her, a street light flickered on, throwing odd shadows against the walls. "My mother is a crusading social worker. We talk once a week on the phone for exactly a half an hour. We haven't seen each other in three years. But you know all that already, right? That's your job."

"Some."

"Then why ask?"

"Museum. Dinner. Conversation." He clacked his chopsticks against the side of the bowl to punctuate. "And then, I walk you home."

"You live there too."

"One works with what one has."

They walked together, arm and arm. It's not a short distance back to where they live and Houston wasn't a pedestrian friendly city. Still, when she saw the building approach, she felt regretful. She could have continued walking with him, matching his measured pace, forever.

Back at their apartment, he left her at the door, walking to his bedroom with a soft 'goodnight'.

Museum. Dinner. Conversation. Walk home. She turned it over and over in her mind as she changed into an old t-shirt and slid into bed. It occurred to her, finally as sleep stole over her, that it had been a date.

~*~

In the morning, she stumbled blearily into the kitchen. He was already at the table, papers spread out in a spiky radius around him. A mug of black coffee sat at his elbow.

"We've got a job." He said, pushing a manila folder across the table. "It's a little different."

She'd become used to having the place to herself in the morning and hadn't bothered with pants. It was too late to beat a retreat and he hadn't looked up, so she poured herself a bowl of cereal and sat down across from him, pulling her t-shirt down as low as she could.

"What's different?"

He looked pointedly at the folder he'd indicated for her. Rolling her eyes, she took it in her free hand and started paging through it. There was a picture of a young man in a soccer uniform clipped to a dossier. His name was Michael, 16, promising athletic career. Curious she flipped past it and found an article about a car accident with no clear cause. He was in critical condition. It was dated two months ago.

"This isn't an extraction." She said crunching through her cheerios.

"No." He scribbled into his notebook. "His father is employing us. The doctors are telling him that Michael is brain dead, but he wants confirmation before he pulls the plug."

"What if he is?" She stared down at the picture. Smiling, youthful and intact. "Is that safe?"

"Not if we were using his subconscious. We'll use mine." He wrote something else than set down his pen. "The place will matter in different ways. It has to be something that he'd find irresistible."

"Bait."

"Exactly."

She carried her bowl and the folder over to her work station, absently setting it down as she started to pull out building material. Between bites of cereal, she started on a blueprint.

"How long do we have?" She asked.

"I...what?"

Annoyed, she looked up and found him staring at her from the kitchen.

"What?" She demanded.

"Do you usually work in your underwear?" He asked, eyes a little wide.

"Oh!" She flushed darkly, pulling at her t-shirt. "I...uh..I'll go change."

"You don't have to on my account." He said, just loud enough for her to make out as she moved to her room and got dressed for the day.

Abashed, she went back to her workstation and tried to lose herself in creation. He shuffled through papers at the kitchen table, seemingly happy to ignore her. In a fit of inspiration, she forewent her usual clean paper models and took out a wad of clay. She pressed in flat and pulled at the sides for a more organic shape.

The morning past swiftly and when she finally unbent, her back was stiff. She became aware that there was music playing softly. The kitchen table had been cleared of papers, reduced to his moleskin book and a pen, tapping thoughtfully against it.

"What are we listening to?" She walked back into the kitchen, tilting her head so she could see what he was writing. It was in some kind of code, a mangle of numbers, letters and symbols.

"Ray Charles."

"Want to go for a walk?" She smiled invitingly. "I'm stiff like you wouldn't believe."

"It's hot out there." He picked up the mp3 player, dialed the button and reset it into the speaker. A brisk horn pierced the air as he increased the volume. "Here."

He stood up and swept her into his arms, putting his hand on her back and grasping up her other arm, limp from shock.

Oh baby baby it looks like it's gonna hail. The speaker yowled.

"What are we doing?" She tried to follow his steps.

"Swing." He guided her around the small clear space.

"I don't know how."

"Then learn on your feet." He swung her out and she went laughing.

You better come inside let me teach you how to jive and wail! You got to jump, jive and learn to wail!

Stumbling and giggling, she learned and followed his fluid steps. Several times they came close to banging into a wall, but he came through and saved her from a bruising. By the end she was winded and sweating a little. He wasn't even breathing heavy, but his eyes were bright.

"Where'd you learn to dance like that?"

"There's a lot of time between jobs." He rolled his sleeves up, carefully tucking the folds. "You learn to keep busy."

"What else can you do?"

His eyelashes dipped down demurely. "Wait around and find out."

~*~

His subconscious was all diaphanous curtains and folded screens, but it allowed her to carve out the space she needed while played lookout. Without the watchful eyes of projections, she conjured grass and trees. In the center of her park, grew a stalagmite church, covered in vines and moss. Inside the church was a statue of Michael's mother perched on an alter. Cautiously, she sat on one of the dark wood pews and waited.

The silence stretched on so long that when a young blond man finally sat next to her, she had to suppress a yelp of surprise.

"I'm lost." Michael said quietly, looking at the statue of his mother.

"I know." She touched his hand. "You've been sleeping a long time."

"I'm lost." He said again.

"Where did you get lost?" She prompted.

"In the dark." He breathed out.

"That happens." She said gently. "But I can help you find your way out."

"I'm lost." He bit at his lip.

"You're here." She tried. "With me. In this church right now. You're not lost."

He looked down at his hands.

"Michael, your father is waiting for you."

"No!" He flung himself up and ran to the statue of his mother, he hugged her marble feet. "Please, no."

"I'm sorry!" She got to her feet. "It's all right, he's not here. It's just you and me, right now."

"Don't let him find me." Tears spilled down his cheeks.

"I won't." Laying a hand on his shoulder, she collected herself.

"I'm lost." Michael repeated miserably. "It's dark here."

"I can make it brighter." Happy to have something constructive to do, she called up the sun until the tiny church was suffused with light.

"It's dark." He whimpered.

"Where are you?" She knelt at his side and wrapped her arms around him. "Tell me how to find you."

"I'm lost." He moved in her arms, resting his forehead on her shoulder, sobbing like a child.

"I want to help you." Her hands rubbed soothing circles on his back.

They stayed entwined like that until time ran out and she opened her eyes to a sterile hospital room, arms empty. The bed next to her still hummed and beeped, the boy still lay limp.

"What happened?" Michael's father asked immediately. "Did you see him?"

"One moment, sir." He cut in smoothly. "She will need to return fully to the waking state."

Grateful for the bought time, her mind raced. Choices. Morals. Playing God. She drew in long breaths and let them out slowly.

"There was nothing." She said quietly. "I'm sorry, sir."

The older man sat down at his son's bedside looking distraught. He picked up one limp hand.

"Get out." He demanded without looking at either of them.

They got out. The hospital corridors stretched out endlessly and she was eternally thankful when they finally escaped to the outside world.

"You lied." He said mildly.

"I had to! If his father thought there was anything at all left of him..." She shook her head. "He isn't going to wake up and he's stuck in a nightmare."

"Was that your choice to make?"

"No." Tears pinpricked at her eyes. "But I made it anyway."

"I couldn't have done it." He looked up at the sky. "Good thing you had the guts. Did you notice? There were no projections. Just him."

~*~

The ring was faint as if she could hear the signal stretching over the long miles. Her clock glowed red with late night numbers.

"Bonjour?"

"Bonjour, Penny." She smiled into the phone. "Have you missed me?"

"Ariadne!" Her friend shouted. "How dare you fall off the face of the earth! Everyone is back to calling me 'The American' like I'm the only one in all of Paris."

"I'm sorry." She fell back onto her bed. "I had to leave."

"They said you took a leave of absence."

There's a clanging noise and Ariadne knew her friend was probably making dinner. She could picture the little kitchen and longed to sit at the card table and talk about philosophy.

"I had to. I got an amazing job offer." She sighed. "I'm sorry I couldn't tell you."

"Is it confidential?" Penny asked darkly. "You know what Professor Liffey said about those kinds of jobs."

"It's not what you're thinking." She traced designs into her sheet. "Or...maybe it is. I'm not sure. It's complicated."

"Ain't it always."

"How have you been?"

She listened to Penny talk about classes, food festivals and a late night romantic date with a beautiful woman, never to hear from her again. The cadence of her voice was lulling and grounding. Closing her eyes, Ariadne could imagine that her life had not changed, that everything was what it could have been if Cobb had not chosen her.

"And of course, I still talk to the ever impossible Theresa. She was asking about you." Penny was winding down. "What should I tell her?"

"That I got a good job." She took a deep breath. "And that I'm not coming back."

"Never?" Penny yelled into the phone. "Have you gone crazy? You'll never get that scholarship back. And forget about getting a job!"

"I've got a job." She reminded her quietly. "I can't go back now."

"It's a man, isn't it?"

"I...no. Not really. He's more a bonus than a reason."

"Ari..." A butterfly soft sigh passed over the phone. "Well...tell me about him."

"He's..." She cast around for the right words. "Good looking. Tall, dark hair and eyes. Very serious and buttoned down. Smart."

"Is he crazy about you?"

"Well..." She pressed her hand into her pillow, watched the indent slowly rise and fill. "Maybe."

"There's no maybe about it girl." Penny scolded.

"I..." She thought of their midday dance in the kitchen, their solitary date in the museum. The way he had come back for her at the airport. His eyes dancing over her when he thought she wasn't looking. "There's something there."

"If you say so."

"I have to go Penny, it's really late here, but it was good to hear your voice. I'll call again soon."

"You better. Bonne nuit, Ariadne."

"Bonne nuit."

The phone went quiet and the silence of the night oppressed her. On cat feet, she slid out of her room and to the kitchen. Distracted, she rifled through the pantry without really seeing the contents. Nothing appealed. She moved to her workstation, but was halted by the sliver of light peering under his door.

Curious, she gravitated to it, knocking before she'd really thought it through. The door slid open under her hand. Peering around, she saw no sign of him and took a tentative step inside. His suitcase lay open, contents neatly packed by the closet door. Bewildered, she looked around for any other sign of departure. The dresser had a pile of loose change and his wallet. Shoes were tucked in a neat row at the end of the bed like glossy soldiers.

Emboldened, she moved further in. He was sitting at his desk, head tilted back, eyes closed, still dressed in the day's suit though the jacket had been hung neatly from the back of the chair. The desk displayed three neat piles of paper, his notebook and several pens.

The bed was made with plain grey sheets and comforter and it looked a lot more comfortable than the desk chair. Tentative, she called his name softly, but he didn't stir.

She crept closer and studied his face. Slack with sleep, he didn't look particularly vulnerable or different. He did look younger though with the lines around his mouth and eyes smoothed out.

"It's late." She kept her voice low and reached out to brush his arm lightly. "You shouldn't sleep here."

"mefen.." He grumbled.

"Sure." She suppressed a giggle. "But you'll get a stiff neck sleeping like this."

His eyes opened by a bare sliver, regarding her with sleepy indignation.

"M'fine." He informed her.

"You are." She said agreeably. "Now up and into bed with you."

He got up slowly, stretching until something cracked and then ambled over to the bed, dropping onto the mattress with a soft moan. For the first time, she noticed that his feet were bare. She admired this surprising bit of nudity. Once he seemed settled, she turned off the light and started to walk out.

"C'mere." He said through a yawn.

"Why?" She asked, already walking towards him.

"Secret."

"What is it?" She stood by the bedside.

Like a shot, his arms were wrapped around her waist, dragging her into bed.

"Hey!" She protested, wiggling and kicking.

"Shh. Sleeping now." He informed her, tucking himself around her still protesting body. His arm was like a vise around her stomach and she soon gave up trying to extricate herself.

"You're an asshole." She informed him tartly, but there was no response. His breathing deepened, stirring the hairs at the back of her neck. "I'm not a teddy bear."

Stuck, tired and lulled by the warmth of his body pressed to hers like a blanket, she gave up. Shuffling over the other pillow on the bed, she closed her eyes and let sleep over come her.

In the morning, she woke to an empty bed with the comforter tucked up under her chin. She shuffled blearily into the kitchen to find him pouring batter into a pan. The whole kitchen smelled like honey.

"Good morning." He watched the batter spread with scientific interest. "Hope you like pancakes."

"Yeah..I...yeah they're great, thanks." She sank into a seat.

"I've got a lead." A spatula she'd never seen before appeared in his hand. "How do you feel about Montreal?"

"I've never been."

"It's an interesting city." He flipped a pancake.

"How long would we be there?"

"A few months."

She stared at his back. A crisp blue shirt pulled and bunched over his shoulders as he went about his work.

"Where's home?" She finally asked.

"Home?"

"Don't you settle down anywhere? Some place you always go back to?"

"I had an apartment in Berlin for a while." He slid a pancake onto the plate. "It was blown up."

"Oh."

"I had been thinking that we would need a more permanent base of operations." He allowed.

"Oh?" She brightened. "Where?"

"It would have to be a city, something with a big airport." He set a plate in front of her. The pancake was perfectly golden on each side and a pat of butter melted on top. It looked like a picture in a menu.

"Big enough to swallow us." She cut off a piece, it melted on her tongue.

"Exactly. I'll start looking into it. Any preferences?"

"Windows. Natural lighting is a must."

"I mean as to country." He sat down across from her with a glass of orange juice.

"Aren't you going to have some?"

"I've already eaten."

"Oh. I don't really know. I've only lived in America and France. I like cool weather, but not freezing or anything."

"Temperate."

"Exactly." She ate another bite. "Are we going to talk about it?"

"Did you sleep well?" He took a sip of his juice.

"...yes."

"Good." He hesitated and reached across the table to take one of her hands. "I don't know how to do this."

"Neither do I." She squeezed his hand gently. "I'd like to try anyway. If only so you'll cook for me."

"I only know how to make pancakes." He admitted.

"You're a man of strange depths."

She smiled at him and was pleased to see a slow grin curl at the sides of his mouth. He had a beautiful smile, boyish and charming.

"Our flight leaves in two hours." He said casually. "You'll need to pack up your work things."

"What?" She was on her feet in a minute. "Why didn't you wake me up?"

"There's time." He kept on smiling at her. "Plenty of time."

~*~

The flight was a frantic blur spent with fingers flying over the laptop while he made one long call on the fancy seat phones she used to imagine were too expensive for anyone to use. He spoke in German and she only caught every word in six.

"We've got a chemist." He said when he'd hung up.

"Why do we need one?"

"It's not a complicated job, but I want someone we trust in the waking world." He looked out the small window. "Daphne we can trust."

"Who is she?" A momentary flare of jealousy took her off guard.

"He. Daphne is his last name. I met him while I was in Berlin. You'll like him. He'll meet us at the airport."

Daphne turned out to be giant, nearly seven feet tall and broad as a barn. His head was shaved bald and his goatee was long enough to tuck into his shirt. His t-shirt proudly informed her that 'Hells Angels are Pussys."

"This is the young lady?"

"Ariadne." She held out her hand and he shook it reverently.

"I could not believe it." Daphne grinned white, straight teeth at her. "He calls me and says he is doing a job, just him and a woman. How could this be? Not my friend, who is always undistractable."

"I'm not a distraction." She said firmly. "I'm his architect."

"I like you. Cobb always bothered me. Looked like he might be a man with some dark dreams." Daphne took her suitcase. "Come, we have a job to discuss."

The hotel was old fashioned, the lobby done up like something out of a 40s movie with giant chandeliers and rich men lounging in leather chairs.

"Mr. Daphne!" The coiffed receptionist greeted with a wide smile. "We have missed you."

"And I you, Bee." He flashed her a broad smile. "Two rooms."

"Of course." Bee reached behind her and passed him two keys. "The usual suite for yourself and the room next to it."

"Two rooms?" Ariadne said quietly.

"Do you mind? I can tell him..."

"No...no it's fine." She gave him a shy smile. One of his hands brushed hers.

Their room was generously sized and she immediately opened her suitcase, unpacking into one of the dressers.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm sorry, did you want this one?" She drew out a pile of socks and arranged them.

"No." He hung up his travel bag full of suits. "Why are you unpacking?"

"I thought you said we'd be staying here a while?"

"We are..." He trailed off and looked a little lost. "Usually, we didn't bother. Never knew when you'd get the next job and we were off and running again."

"I'm not Dom." She reminded him, now pointedly setting things in drawers.

Had she offended him? He had gone quiet and her hands wavered in their work.

"You'll get wrinkles doing it like that." He said and knelt next to her on the floor, taking her stack of t-shirts from her and snapping them into neater folds. His own suitcase stayed closed, but he didn't stop until hers was emptied.

"Thank you." She zipped up the empty case. "Mom always used to complain that I was too hard on my clothes. You always look perfect. I wondered how you managed."

"Dry cleaning, mostly." He stood up and offered her a hand. She took it and found herself drawn full length up against him.

"You know...I've never slept with a man without kissing him before." It had sounded more suave in the airplane and she had to suppress a wince at herself.

"We kissed." He reminded her.

"Briefly and you tricked me!" She hit him lightly on the shoulder.

"What about right now?" He leaned in and she stood up on her toes to reach him.

"You two ready?" Daphne called out at their door, accompanied by a loud banging. "The game is a foot!"

"Shit." She rolled back on her heels. "Maybe later."

"I don't think so." His eyes narrowed and he leaned down to pull her close. "He can wait ten seconds."

This time, she could focus on him. His lips were dry and surprisingly soft, pressing against hers with quiet urgency. One of his hands cupped the back her neck and tilted her head up for a better angle. When he released her, she felt more than a little dazed and pressed her lips together to prolong the sensation.

"We're coming!" He shouted and winked at her, before moving to open the door.

"Young lady." Daphne grinned at her. "We go for drinks now!"

~*~

They slept like spoons, clothed like Victorian women. They didn't have time to expound on that stolen moment. Instead, they worked like demons. The job was meant to have months of preparation time, but their employer made an error, tipped his hand and now they only had a week.

He found the time to kiss her though. Always when they were fully clothed and she was momentarily distracted by something else. A phone call, a tricky part of the maze or trying to unsnarl her hair. The last he even helped with after issuing a long promising kiss. Unsurprisingly, he was excellent at untangling knots.

~*~

"I don't object to the obviousness, really." She commented, hanging upside down from harness. "It's just the lack of creativity."

"Try to stay still." He said from above her, spraying the surrounding area from an aerosol can. Red lines reluctantly appeared spreading out like a web in every direction.

"I mean, it's a dream, you have all the resources a powerful mind can bring to bear. I create a beautiful maze with an elaborate safe and what does he do? Add Mission Impossible music and movie magic traps."

"I appreciate your art." He assured her, uncinching his harness and taking a calculated tumble down through the lasers.

~*~

According to plan, she woke up well ahead of him. Daphne handed her a glass of water and they sat knee to knee in the storage closet.

"How long have you known him?" She asked to pass the time.

"Many long years." Daphne shifted, jostling her leg. "My apologies."

"No problem. Did you know him before he met Cobb?"

"Yes, I met him in military program. He stole from us. We stole from him." Daphne smiled fondly at the sleeper. "I notice, remember that he is very good at what he does. When he leaves the army, I take notice. Make a meeting."

"That's when you met Cobb."

"Oh yes. And his wife. They got to him before anyone else."

"Who did they work for?" She tried to remember if Cobb had ever said. He'd been hired by the company only after Mal's death.

"Ah, that is a good question." Daphne shrugged. "They worked for themselves, I think. Like you do now. They did extract, but mostly they did subtler jobs. Artistic things. Cheap psychology."

"So why did they need a point man?"

"They did not. They needed a body guard. Sometimes, even pretty dreams turn ugly." Daphne pulled out a toothpick and stuck it between his teeth. "When things turned bad... well. He is loyal to a fault. Followed fearless leader into a new line of business."

"Why them?" She leaned forward. "Why not a company or even another line of work?"

"They had their eyes on him. Made him a good offer." Chewing on his toothpick, Daphne regarded her solemnly. "It is one thing to give a man a job, another to give him a place to sleep."

"Ah." She nodded understanding, then saw by his gaze that she had missed something. Turning his statement over in her head, she started to flush. "You don't mean...."

"I don't know. He is private person, but that was what it seemed like." He raised an eyebrow. "You are surprised? Scandalized?"

"No. Actually, it makes a great deal of sense. Thank you for telling me."

"He won't thank me. So maybe this stays between us?"

"Of course."

They finished their wait in silence except for the clacking of the toothpick against his teeth.

~*~

When they returned to the hotel, job finished, he immediately started packing.

"Are we leaving already?" She looked longingly at the bed.

"I've got a good hunch about some real estate." He zipped closed his suitcase and started on packing hers. "A home base. If you like it, I'll buy it."

"We." She said firmly. "Or me. You don't even really want a place to stay."

"Of course I do." He turned to her, eyes flashing. "It was my idea wasn't it?"

"But you like this." She waved a hand around her, encompassing the room already half packed up. "The moving and the not owning anything that can't fit in two suitcases and a carry on."

"I don't like it." He said firmly. "It's just how it was."

"So if we get a place, you'll what? Settle down? Stay there more than a few weeks a year?"

"We have to work."

"Do we? We have more than enough money now." Her bank account had gone from too low to make a withdrawal to platinum practically overnight.

"You know we do." He crossed his arms over his chest. "How long do you think you could go now without going under? A week? A month?"

Just the thought of stopping made her hands shake.

"We have to do better." She sat down on the edge of the bed. "Be better. If we don't need the money, let's not take the money jobs."

"What else is there?"

"What did you do before Mal died?" She pushed. "She didn't sound like the type of person that would be into theft. She had kids to protect."

"No." He agreed and suddenly he looked desperately tired. "It was different then. We did jobs like what we did for Michael. Reaching people that can't be reached any other way. But even then, we went in for federal authorities, did things that would have been against the law if anyone had allowed for dream sharing."

"We can do that." She reached for him, but he was stiff and unyielding in her arms. "We can do good things, be decent people."

"They tried." He talked over her head. "And look what happened to them."

"So we learn from their mistakes. Make new rules. No dream sharing except for work." She said firmly. "Nothing experimental. We do what we know how to do at the right time and place."

"And what if we don't work out?" He pulled away from her.

"Then we act like grownups and acknowledge that we're still business partners." She eyed him. "I know you can manage that."

He stared back at her, eyes narrowing.

"Daphne's been talking."

"Well, you never do." She shook her head. "Look, I don't care about whatever it was though if you ever want to talk to me about it, I'm willing to listen. I just want to have a fair shot at being your partner. I want to go in half with you on this place we're buying."

"Real estate..." He took a step towards her. "Pretty big step with someone you've only kissed."

"Consider it a down payment on the relationship." She sat down on the bed and pat the spot next to her. He sat.

"Dublin." He put an arm around her shoulders. "It's large enough, good airport. Doesn't get particularly hot or cold."

~*~

The apartment was just off of St. Stephen's Green. A penthouse with gloriously large windows and blond hardwood floors. She stood in the kitchen, still tugging her suitcase after her.

"What do you think?" He leaned against the kitchen counter, a hint of a smile brushing over his face.

"How?" She turned in a small circle. "It's like you took it right out of my mind. All I told you was windows."

"I'm good at my job."

"I'm not a mark." She scolded.

"Should I call the agent?"

"Absolutely. And then let's find a furniture store that delivers. I want to stay here starting tonight."

"Money's gone to your head already?" He clucked, picking up his phone. "Very extravagant."

"Shut up." She ran her hands over the cabinets.

"Yes, m'am."

He made the call while she walked in and out of each room, picturing furniture and pictures on the wall. When she heard his conversation end, she called out.

"Can I give my friends this address?"

" P.O. box would be better." He tread across the wooden floors, testing each board for squeaks and groans. "Carpets. We need to invest in carpets."

"So you can sneak around?" She lifted her eyebrows. "Planning on sneaking up on me?"

"If you want a bed by tonight, we should go now."

"That's not an answer."

"We could sleep in another hotel."

"You're not going to keep getting out of these conversations." She grumbled, but gathered up her purse and headed out the door.

The furniture store was almost empty and they had the run of the place.

"What kind of mattress do you want?" She tested several by flopping backwards onto them.

"Whatever you want." He shrugged. "I've never noticed a difference."

"There's a huge difference!" She stared at him indignantly and tugged at his hand. "Lie down."

"In public?"

"Unless you want to buy them all and test them at home." She rolled her eyes. Stiffly, he lay back next to her. "See? This one is really firm. Good for bad backs."

"My back is fine."

"Mhm." She stood and tugged him upwards. "And this one is really soft."

Pushing at him gently, he sighed, but indulged her.

"I like this one better." He allowed.

"Good, me too."

Finding linens was substantially easier. He insisted on the highest thread count available and refused anything more colorful then a subdued blue. No patterns.

"Bedrooms should be restful." He insisted when she offered up a simple striped comforter. "No distractions."

"Fine, but I'm decorating the rest of the place in a riot of colors. Red walls and orange carpets." She teased.

"You need me to reach the high spots with the paint." He took his choices to the register. "My concern is limited."

Neither of them discussed the possibility of a second bed.

"Let's get groceries." She suggested when they were quoted a delivery time a few hours away.

"There's a place only a block or so away from the apartment."

Shopping for food with him was another revelation.

"Are you trying to kill yourself?" He snapped, steering her away from the chip aisle.

"I can't enjoy a handful of chips once and a while?" She frowned.

"Once and a while. Leave that stuff around the house and you'll substitute it for meals. I've seen you do it."

"Only when I'm working." She trailed after him, frustrated. "You don't get to dictate what I eat."

"No." He stopped in the vegetable aisle, scrutinizing the tomatoes. "Get them if you want, but you know I'm right."

"Fine. Then we can't live off of take out either. You want me to stay away from chips, you'll have to learn how to make something aside from pancakes." She choose a few likely apples. "I'm not falling into that kind of gender biased chore."

"Of course not." He bundled tomatoes into a bag and turned his attention to lettuce. "So what will you be doing?"

"I'll clean the bathroom and vacuum." She determined, trying not to feel awkward. The last time she'd had a roommate, they were only responsible for a tiny dorm room. "You cook. And you're in charge of laundry."

"That's fair." He went through the vegetables with a vengeance, shoving aside anything that didn't meet his inscrutable standards.

"How'd you even learn to cook pancakes?" She asked idly, shifting through boxes of strawberries to find some that were less bruised.

"Mal taught me." His hands stilled momentarily over radishes.

"You never really talk about her. Mal, I mean."

"No." He turned away from the radishes to pin her with an intense look. "Not yet."

"You said it before." She smiled gently, taking his hand. "We have time."

~*~

They ate on the floor, dipping vegetables cut up with his pocket knife into creamy dressing.

"I have no idea what time it is." She crunched into a carrot. "I mean, I know it's dark out, but these quick time zone changes..."

"Are you jet lagged?"

"Some." Thinking on it, she yawned. "What time is it?"

"I know a sure fire cure for jet lag."

"Oh?"

He kissed her, one hand on her neck to draw her closer. Her fingers curled around his wrist, feeling the ticking of his pulse. When he pulled back she felt a little breathless.

"That's the cure?"

"The first part." He got to his feet. "The rest requires a bed."

He helped her up. The walk down the hall was nerve wracking. She had been both anticipating and dreading this moment. Her experience was limited, but she knew that if it was terrible between them things could become difficult.

In the growing shadows, he kissed her again and that at least was familiar and good. When he peeled away her shirt, his fingers were delicate against her skin. He kissed her neck and shoulders with deliberate reverence.

Within minutes, he had her naked, spread out on the bed. His tongue traced spirals around her breasts.

"You're still dressed." She complained through a shuttered breath.

His tongue dipped lower, breath ghosted over stomach. Her thighs parted in encouragement. When his mouth finally descended over her, licking with deliberate long strokes, all complaints drifted from her mind. As in all things, he was diligent and thorough. She trembled and writhed against him, pleasure spiraling through her.

"Please...." She arched and came.

"I want...." He rounded a single finger tip at her entrance.

"Yes."

Under heavy lidded eyes, she watched him undress. The last of twilight's sun blurred her vision. His back was to her as he shrugged off his shirt and she found the will to sit up and kiss the indentation between his shoulder blades. His skin was supple under her hands as she slid them around his torso, tracing lines across his chest, stomach.

"Patience." He grumbled, but he was tossing away his belt and pants with unseemly speed, so she ignored him.

There was no opportunity to memorize his body. He was on her in seconds, the delicacy of before gone. He mouthed her neck, his cock sliding through her wetness, awaking tiny tremors in her sensitized flesh.

"Condom." She forced out.

"You're on birth control." He nibbled at her earlobe experimentally. "You're last blood test was clean and you haven't been with anyone since."

"That's creepy." She dug her nails into his arm in a warning, but he let out a soft moan instead of an objection. "And you?"

"I wouldn't hurt you." He pulled back, brow furrowed. And it took her a moment to realize that she'd insulted him somehow.

"All right." She drew him back down, legs rising to twine around his waist.

When he finally sank into her, she almost came again from sheer relief. The tension of waiting for this moment for months finally uncoiled.

It was over too quickly. His orgasm marked only by a fluttering of eyelashes and sudden smoothing of all the lines in his face. Briefly, he rested his head on her shoulder. To her surprise, he started to thrust again, still hard within her.

He didn't stop until she was utterly undone, sweating and screaming.

~*~

She stretched luxuriously on the soft sheets and contemplated falling back asleep, but the sun was already slanting in through the windows. The shower was running and she padded into the steamy bathroom. The glass doors obscured her view.

"Can I join you?" She called over the water. The door slid open in silent welcome. Grinning, she slipped inside.

"The water pressure is good." He drew her in under the spray. The water was hot and pounded down pleasantly. He reached for the soap and lathered it between his hands. "May I?"

"Sure."

It wasn't the first time a lover had offered to wash her, but usually it was a perfunctory rub to get her back in the mood. He didn't miss a single patch of her skin. Fingers swept over her from shoulders to feet. By the time he was finished, she knew she was blushing all over.

"I can return the favor." She offered.

"Already took care of it." He kissed her gently, then stepped out of the shower, reaching for a towel, but not before she saw a serpentine scar curling around the back of his thigh.

"What happened?"

"Nothing serious." He wrapped the towel securely around his waist. "Just a run in with a fence."

"Nasty fence?"

"Barbed wire is no one's friend."

When she finished washing off and grabbed up her own towel, he had already started to shave. She sat on the toilet seat and watched. It fascinated her that he still used a mug, brush and straight razor. Once long ago, she had sat just like this and watched her grandfather go through the same ritual.

The brush painted thick cream over his face and she finally pinpointed the cologne-smell. It hadn't been cologne at all, but this old fashioned shaving cream. Running the razor of his face in sharp clean strokes, he banished his faint morning stubble rapidly.

"Why that way?" She asked when he set it down and washed his face clean.

"Cleanest shave you can get." He picked up a hand towel and scrubbed himself dry.

"Huh." She edged in next to him at the sink and picked up her toothbrush.

"See?" He rubbed his cheek against hers.

"Oh...that's nice." She smiled at him, then at their image in the mirror. They were crowded together, still splattered with water and happiness. "Very nice."

"What if I show you just how nice I can be?"

He was on his knees before she could argue. His movements were stronger this time, surer. She could imagine him memorising her sex as if it were a mark. When her hand slipped on the sink and almost sent both of them crashing to the floor, he paused.

"Hold on." He was grinning as he picked her up in one fluid movement. Carried her over his shoulder to the bedroom and laid her out on the bed.

"Show off."

"That is not showing off."

"Oh?"

"This is showing off."

He dropped his towel, picked her up again and pinned her against the bedroom wall. In long languid strokes, he worked his way into her.

"Oh god." She laughed and moaned.

Even when he shuddered against her, burying his face into her neck, his hold didn't falter. When he'd collected himself, he carried her back to the bed though by now she could feel the quivering in his arms.

"We need another shower." She huffed when he collapsed next to her.

"Good thing there's no drought." He kissed her shoulder.

"What were you doing on a barbed wire fence?"

"You really know how to keep up the mood." But he was laughing softly. "Escaping a junkyard dog. Trying to get parts for my car."

"How old were you?"

"Sixteen. Picked the car up for a song and rebuilt it myself."

"You had a job that required you to get dirty?"

"Funny." He shook his head. "I get my hands into it when it's necessary."

"What happened to it?"

"The car? Nothing. I couldn't take it with me when we started operating primarily in Europe. Probably still at Dom's house."

"Would you want to get it?"

"No." He kissed her again, then got out of bed. "It's in the past where it belongs."

"It sounds like you spent a lot of time on it though."

"I did. But there will be other cars."

"I hope you don't feel the same way about women." She said lightly.

"Despite popular metaphors, women have very little in common with cars." He winked at her, pulling on underwear.

"I've noticed." She rolled out of the bed herself, walking towards the bathroom to clean up. "Still though, I think you know what I mean."

"I do." He continued to get dressed, but she could feel his eyes on her as she brushed her teeth, breasts jiggling slightly with the motion. "And I don't, for the record. Your my first since..."

"Since?" Her mind worked. "Really? I mean, he was still there."

"Everything changed." She could hear the slightest strain of sadness there. "He became a different person."

She replayed the memory. Cobb thanking her for not questioning his innocence in a crime she barely understood.

"You were suspicious."

"Wouldn't you have been?" He leaned in the bathroom doorway, already mostly buttoned up against the day. "He was desperate, she was depressed. I was in Berlin."

"That must have been hard for you."

"It was harder when it was all over." He rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand. "I thought you were going to let me talk about this in my own time."

"You don't have to answer." She spat toothpaste into the sink.

"You make me want to be honest." He stared at her like it was some secret power she was using against him.

"Good." She pushed past him. "Go make me breakfast!"

"Demanding." He sighed, but went and there was a rattling in the kitchen. Given his single recipe, she wasn't sure what to expect, but took her time getting dressed. When she arrived in the kitchen, nothing smelled burnt.

"What've you got?"

"Scrambled eggs." He slid her a plate.

"Figure that one out on your own?" She grinned taking a satisfying bite.

"I looked on the internet."

"We've got internet already?"

"No. Our neighbor has an unprotected wireless signal."

"I want to go furniture shopping today." She informed him. "You going to come?"

"I trust your taste. I only ask the bedroom stays plain."

"Done." She washed her dish in the sink. "What are you going to do?"

"This and that." He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "I'll be back around eight."

It was exhilarating to walk through stores with someone trailed behind her. Part of her chaffed at the idea of spending so much of her ill gotten gains, but she ruthlessly pushed it down. She'd nearly died, she'd earned a little luxury.

When she sat down to her solitary lunch, she felt a little pang and considered calling Penny again or even her mother. Her old life seemed farther away than ever. She'd never made friends easily and she wasn't sure how she could now when she'd have to lie about so much. Melancholy, she drifted around the city in the afternoon, barely absorbing the fantastic buildings all around her.

By the time she'd reached the apartment, she was ready to give it all up again. So she had a little addiction to the work? She could work around that. Maybe he'd even come with her, retire...

Some of the furniture had been delivered and arranged, but something else struck her. Draped over the couch was a familiar quilt. Disbelieving, she walked over and ran her fingers over it. When it felt just as knobbly as ever under her fingertips, she reached for her bishop and set it on the side table. It tipped over at it's odd angle.

It was a crazy quilt, poorly sewn several years ago when she was going through her crafty phase. She'd last seen it on her tiny bed in her student's garret. The coffee table held several of her larger architecture books, the ones she could never make fit on her bookshelves. Drawn, she moved to the new bookshelves she bought with the wistful hope of filling them with old favorites. Someone had taken all of her old paperbacks and alphabetized them.

Some of the books she was sure hadn't been in Paris with her. They must have come from her mother's house in New York. Still others she'd taken with her to the warehouse when they'd carved out space for her.

Filled with a volatile mixture of emotion, she went into the second bedroom that they'd designated for their office. Her desk from Houston was there, overflowing with building materials from every place she'd worked since high school. These were not yet organized, but spilling out of boxes.

"Too much?" He asked from the doorway nearly startling her out of her skin.

"I...yes...no." She sniffed, caught unaware by her own tears. "I was just thinking about how untethered I felt and you just... how'd you even get this stuff?"

"I called your mother when we were still in Houston. " His eyes cut away from her face. "I wasn't sure of... I was hoping if you had some of your things, you might not leave."

"We hadn't settled on this place yet when we were in Houston."

"It was a calculated risk."

"You don't do anything small, do you?" She looked around helplessly. "I don't know how to... Don't know whether to thank you or smack you."

"I know which one I'd choose."

"No one's ever done something like this for me before. How can I...there's nothing I can do that will even match that."

"There is."

"What?"

"Listen." He let out a long breath for his nose. "I thought a lot today. Going through your things. You've trusted me a great deal."

"You're trustworthy."

"Thank you."

"Maybe a bit controlling, but trustworthy."

He frowned at her until he caught the edges of her smile.

"My point is that I've never...repaid you for that trust."

"You've trusted me, haven't you?"

"Yes...and no." He held out his hand. "I need to be sitting for this."

When they settled on the couch, he leaned his head back on her shoulder.

"You're going to tell me now?" She reached out to smooth down his hair. "You don't have to."

"Yes. I do." He gave her a vague smile. "I know everything about you. Things you might think no one knows. I'm good at my job."

"I never questioned that." Though it was chilling to hear. There weren't significant skeletons in her closet, but they were hers to reveal.

"At first it was because we were pulling you in on the job. After...I had to know. I couldn't just...not again." He shook his head. "This is coming out all wrong..."

"It's fine." She kissed his forehead where it was furrowed. "We have time."


	2. Fine-Woven Will

I could start in three places. Joints. The secret folds in a person's life where they become something else. Choose, I want to tell you. Beginning? In Media Res? Or I could work backward... Your arms are warm, wrapped around me protectively.

I know three ways to kill someone if they walked into the room right now, gun drawn.

"It's fine." You say and kiss my forehead. "We've got time."

"You're used to layers." I concentrate on a fixed point. A candle of hers. "There's three stories you should know."

~1~

"Don't touch that." Mother appears, a pale face interfering with my view of...what? Some toy out of my grasp? I no longer remember.

"Ma!" Someone wailed. Caleb? Joshua?

"Behave." She smiles weakly and disappears.

A door slams.

"I'm home."

I move...crawl? toddle? towards the door. Strong arms lift me up.

"Arthur king." Father says quietly in my ear.

I am two.

~2~

"It was an honor to work with you." Colonel Maddox shook my hand.

"And with you, sir." It had been. He was a good man, an excellent officer.

"You understand that the honorable part of your discharge is contingent on the non-disclosure agreement you signed." There were signs of regret around his eyes and mouth, but not enough to prevent what happened.

"Yes, sir. I understand, sir."

"You would've made an excellent officer, Arthur. Best of luck to you."

It was late, the paperwork had taken a long time. The only people out and about was a couple, lost in each other. I passed close to them. They were a handsome pair, both in suits, legs entwined and laughing.

"Do you think he knows?" The woman murmured just as I walked past them.

"Let me ask him." The man said, laughter in his voice. "Arthur, do you know why we're here?"

"Who are you?" I took a step back, hand going to my side before remembering that my gun was now in the hands of a faceless bureaucrat.

"We are being rude." She shook her head, dark brown curls cascading around her face. "And this must be a hard day for you."

"He looks like someone that can take a lot of damage and keep walking."

"Look, I don't know who you people are, but-"

"Do you know what we want from you?" The man asked again.

"I signed a non-disclosure agreement." It was too dark to see if he had a gun, there was no one in my peripheral vision. I could run, but I didn't want to turn my back on them. "And right in front of a federal building, probably not the best place to shake me down for information."

"We don't need the information you have." Her accent was beautiful, a gloss of Europe. "We already share dreams. Beautiful dreams, Arthur."

"Then- a job?" I hazarded.

"See!" The man said to her. "I told you he was smart."

"I saw his records, same as you." She clucked. "But he'll need a trial run."

"A test." The man agreed.

"I'm not interested. I've got a job lined up."

"No, you don't." He came towards me slowly. "How long before you want to dream again? Before it becomes a physical ache to be denied all the power you know you could have? Man like you...I give you a year before start drinking. Maybe two before you kiss your own gun."

"Dom!" The woman protested.

"Go to hell." I stepped off the curb into the street.

"I'm offering you a way out." Dom called after me. "A way you can share dreams with a team. People who won't lie to you!"

I started walking. To where? For the first time, I was on my own. I had no where to live, no prospects. My skills were specialized in a field most Americans didn't even know existed.

"I'll tell you what." Dom continued, keeping up with me. "You give us tonight. If we don't convince you then you can act like we never existed. Hell....we'll even help you find another job if that's what you want."  
"Arthur!" Her voice carried over the pounding of blood in my ears. "Come with us. Please. A man like you should not be wasted."

When I turned, they were both looking at me expectantly.

"One night?"

"One night." They both assured me.

~3~

"This is Ariadne." Cobb says.

"Hi." You stick out your hand.

"A pleasure." My hand eclipses yours, enfolding it.

"Put her under will you?" He shed his jacket, rolling up his sleeve.

Your arm is unmarked, flawless and creamy. When I slide the needle in you wince, then go limp. I sit down and watch over you both.

~2~

"How did you get here?" Dom asked me, leaning across a pool table.

"I'm dreaming." I ran a hand over the pool table. It was flawless. "I've already been trained."

"Not by me." He grinned and started to set up a game.

"What's the job?"

"I guess you could say we're looking for some security. We may not work in covert ops, but we do run into some dangerous minds." He picked up a cue and swung in meditatively. "We need someone that can run interference, be a body guard. Someone with an orderly mind."

He lined up the first shot.

"Why me?"

"Because you're smart and precise. We don't have to teach you the ropes."

The white ball slid soundlessly across the table. The balls scattered and one by one, they each fell into a pocket.

"Show off." She drifted in, a tight red dress hugging every curve. "Don't listen to him, Arthur. We choose you because we liked you."

"You don't know me." I protested.

"I know your dreams." She gestured around the pool hall. The projections were quiet, sharing drinks and whispered conversations. "That should be enough to start with."

"And the test?"

"Simple. " Dom crossed the table to slip a hand around her waist. "Find us."

They winked out of existence. The projections noticeably eased with their passage, talking and laughing with more gusto. I reached for my gun and shot myself in the head. It's harder than it sounds. If you miss, it hurts like a bitch.

When I woke up, the hotel room was empty. There was no trace of their presence. I knew what they looked like, that his name was Dom (Dominic? Dimitri? Donald?) and what line of work they were in.

And most of all, I knew I wanted to pass their test.

~1~

"What's he doing?"

"Coloring." Mother says over my head.

"I can see that." The other woman is exasperated. She and my mother have been talking for some time and it's clear they don't see eye to eye. "I've never seen boy do so quite so...neatly."

I never get any color out of the lines.

"Neatness is a virtue." Mother says frostily. "After four boys, Arthur is a delight."

The implication that I am not a boy, is not lost on the other woman or me.

I am five.

~3~

"Paradox." I explain.

Somewhere in the waking world, we sleep together, side by side. Chastely.

"I get it." You concentrate. Replicate. I watched you learn in an instant.

"Good." I say. "Again."

"Taskmaster." You tease, but you stay with me.

You are the first person I've ever taught to navigate dreams the same way that I do. Dom shows you the adventure and romance, Eames the fiendish cleverness and laughter, but only I can show you this. How to hide, set traps and use your mind like a weapon.

~1~

"We'll miss you." Mother says, kissing Caleb once on the cheek. "Do you have everything you need?"

"It's just basic, Ma." He complains, wiping away traces of her lipstick. "Dad'll be there for Christ's sake."

"Don't you swear in my house." She draws herself up, ready to scold.

"Yes, Ma." He hugs her gently, then shakes Joshua, Edward and Tony's hands. When he gets to me, he squats down. "Hey there, sis."

"I'm not a girl." I grouch.

"Course not." He reaches out, takes my chin in his has hand and makes me meet his eyes. It looks for a moment like he might impart a last bit of brotherly wisdom. Instead, he just nods his head and stands up. "See you all in a few months!"

In three months he'll be dead. An accident late at night on a dark road. This will be the only clear memory I have of him.

I am seven.

~2~

It took me two weeks, five days and what was left in my savings account to find them. I staked out their house for two days to be sure. When there was no doubt left, I returned to the shitty motel I'd been staying in. I dressed in a pair of well worn, but well ironed slacks and pale blue shirt.

The walk up their sidewalk was long, the wait after my knock longer.

"I'll get it!" Someone yelled out, muffled through the walls. The door opened a crack.

"Hello." I grimaced "We need to talk about your paper trail."

The door swung open to reveal Dom (Dominic Maxwell Cobb, parents deceased, no siblings. Two bank accounts, one under his real name at the local branch and another under 'Levy Fox' in Switzerland).

"Paper trail?" He grinned. "I never leave a trail."

"The hotel room requires a license. Fake name, real picture. That's all someone would need."

"No. That's all you would need, Arthur." Mal (Matilde Joan Cobb nee Rogers, daughter of an Englishman and French woman. One sister, estranged. Married two years. They met in school) wafted in from the kitchen, pushing her husband aside. " Dom, let him in. Lunch is getting cold."

Their house was always suffused with light. The kitchen table was weighted down with a bowl of fruit and thick clay plates that she covered in steaming chicken dumplings and cucumber salad. Her smile was always radiant.

You must be starving." She laid a hand on my head like a benediction. "Welcome to our home. Eat. Drink. Then we'll talk."

~1~

"Good job." My physics teacher smiles at me as she hands back tests. The sciences come easily to me.

"Goddamn it, Art." One of my classmates moans. "Stop breaking the goddamn curve."

"I'm sorry. Maybe if I huff some glue, I can kill off enough brain cells to be more like you."

When the stitches are removed, Father enrolls me in karate.

"You got a mouth on you." He says, not exactly disapproving. "But you gotta be able to back it up in a fight. Maybe your brothers go too easy on you."

"Hey!" Joshua looks up from his homework. "Ma just won't let us rough him up more. Says he's fragile."

"You fragile, son?" Father asks, surprise wrinkling the corners of his eyes.

"No, sir."

I earn a black belt within seven months. Joshua tries to tackle me during a game of touch football that has (as usual) gotten out of hand.

His wrist is broken. I have to pay for the hospital bills out of my allowance. But none of them call me 'sis' any more.

I am thirteen.

~2~

"What you need now is a totem." Dom was looking over my shoulder, his breath hot in my ear.

"A totem." I repeated flatly.

"A totem." He mimicked. "Something to keep you grounded when nothing else will. Something that will behave predictably here, but unpredictably in dreams. Mal's top, my lighter."

"How did you decide on yours?"

"Sentimental reasons." The silver lighter that rarely left his pockets slid into his palm. Not for the first time, I noted the initials carved into it.   
"A.C."

"My mother." He rubbed his finger over the curled letters. "She smoked two packs of cigarettes a day and she only ever used this lighter."

My first totem was a heavy iron king from a long scattered chess set. I believed less in luck then. More in the intractability of movement. That we were limited to a single space at a time. I envy you the bishop, really. It has more freedom, crossing the board from the side. It's an unexpected player.

The king is vulnerable. Hunted. The bishop is often sacrificed, but never powerless.

~3~

Before we meet, I already know everything about you.

"Check." Cobb asks me, haggard. Always haggard now. "Make sure she's clean."

You were. Cleaner than anyone pulled into this mess should be. Impeccable school records, healthy social life and not even a parking ticket to your name. Of course, you don't drive. You grew up in Brooklyn taking subways.

By the time we're introduced, I feel I understood you entirely.

That, I rapidly discover, is a mistake. You came at me from the side, unseen.

~2~

"Now that," Dom pulled a little at a seam on my suit jacket. "is what an associate of ours looks like."

"It's flattering." Mal smiled at me in the mirror. "They have an excellent tailor here, no?"

"It's good." I agreed. "I still want the gray one."

In black, Dom and I matched. The effect was persuasive. We looked like powerful men. Agents of a nameless government agency, perhaps.

"Get both." She rested her chin on my shoulder, our hair merging together in a dark blur in the mirror. "Get three! A man can never have too many good suits."

"We should celebrate." Dom decided.

"I thought we were celebrating." Her smile lingered even as she withdrew. "We get a day to play dress up."  
"We're men, love." Dom chided her, taking up her hand to kiss her knuckles. "We can't celebrate with fabric alone."

Our first job as a team, after two months of preparation, had gone cleanly, slickly. We worked together like a single organism. According to Dom, this could only be celebrated with a large bottle of good wine drunk in their living room to the sounds of blues music and wind beating against the windows.  
In the encroaching darkness, Dom raised a glass of red wine to me. To us. We all drank deeply.

"Do you like us, Arthur?" Mal asked, setting down her glass.

"Of course." What I wanted to say was that they are the closest thing I have had to friends in far too long, but I haven't drunk enough wine for that yet.

She leaned into Dom's arm, already wrapped around her shoulders.

"Would you like to join us tonight?" She stretched, her bare toes skimming the cuff of my pants.

"Excuse me?"

"It wouldn't be a permanent thing." Dom rumbles, a bass note of sanity to her sudden contralto offer.

"I don't want- wouldn't that put a strain on our work?" I tried to get words out, aware that I was flushed.

"Only if we allow it." She took control, rising up to put a hand to the side of my face. "We are all grown ups here. We like each other, why not?"

"I like you." I assured her again, my eyes cutting to Dom.

His gaze was half-lidded, focused on my hands where they rested on my knees. I had been aware of his observation before, but I had assumed it was in the role of instructor.

"Have you not been with a man before?" It was a casual question, asked in the same tone she might ask me what I want for breakfast.

~1~

The pen is an average blue plastic one that I'd hollowed out specifically for this purpose. Passed to me during math, I let my finger nail find the now familiar groove. The top pops off smoothly and a tightly rolled note falls out.

JTMIC BVFSI PUJFW UEVPA VCDQK LXLBS JKKVG IXFIC GCVFJ  
RWVTL BOHUD AQPWP KKHJL TKWLB IXOAR JRMOS HWCJC UAFLQ VOOKL EBQBT

It used to take me an hour to decrypt, but we've been using this system for four months now. I translate it in seconds.

'Meteor shower tonight want to watch at the usual place?'

I encode a yes and pass the pen back up front.

Of course, none of it was really necessary. I have gained a reputation as a little dangerous and not much fun. My companion in espionage is Peter, a non-entity. He has learned to slide through school like a ghost. It's the reason I picked him as a friend. I want him to teach me how to do the same. No one cares what notes we passed between each other.

The coding is a defensive hobby. There is no privacy in my house and everyone knows that I keep a journal of sorts. My brothers would be thrilled to get their hands on it and spill my secrets. I use a cipher code with an obscure key.

The one I created for Peter when he asked was of a different make up entirely.

When the class bell rings, I start to collect my things.

"Hey, Arthur." Elaine steps before me. "Some of us are going to see a movie tonight, want to come?"

"No, thank you." Why now? I look around for a trap, but there's no one paying obvious attention to us. Elaine and I speak only in chemistry and that's because we are assigned lab partners.  
"Oh." Her smile dumps downward. "I thought..."

"Perhaps next week." I hedge. She's pretty and I'm not oblivious to what may be on offer. "I have something to do tonight."

"Oh!" The smile turns back up. "That'd be great!"

As I walk away, I can hear her squeal to one of her friends. I try not to dwell on it.

That night, I wait for my parents to go to sleep. I walk carefully down the hall and out the front door. Joshua is working at the kitchen table and watches me slink away with a knowing look. He can look. I've caught him smoking pot, a major infraction compared to my relativity minor one of late night stargazing.

The field behind my house unrolls into woods and beyond them, the next residential street. Within the woods, an old willow with unusually accommodating branches already boasts an occupant.

"You're late." He accuses even as I launch myself upwards, all knees and elbows. I have finally, to my eternal relief, begun to grow.

"Blame Letterman. Usually they fall asleep halfway through." I sat next to him on one of the wide branches.

"I thought you might've ditched me."

His profile is sharp in the moonlight. Thick corn colored hair, a high forehead and beaky nose are his only remarkable features.

"Why would you think that?" I lean against the truck, training my eyes skyward.

"I never know with you." He huffed. "Sometimes, even sitting right next to you, I'm not sure you're even there."

"Where else would I be?"

"Somewhere in your head." Peter shifts, the branch vibrating slightly under his sudden movement. "I shouldn't take it personally, you do it to everyone. One second, you're intense and focused, the next...I don't know. "

"I don't know what you're talking about." I lie. I get bored easily. When I'm bored, I retreat. Create codes, solve logic problems.

"Yeah. Yeah whatever."

"I still don't get why you'd think I wouldn't show." I always do. Keeping promises is important. Father insists that we never make a promise we can't keep.

"I saw you talking to Elaine. I figured you'd want to go out with her tonight."

"I made plans with you first."

"Oh...good." I see a flash of white teeth in the dark. "Sorry. You must think I'm such a girl."

"Why would I think that?"

"You're so fucking weird." He laughs.

"What?"

"Look, most guys don't listen to a speech like that and let it go. I'm being a pussy, sounding like a girlfriend...do you see?"

"Are you encouraging me to mock you?"

"What? No! It's just....I don't know. Fuck it." He looks up at the stars. "I'm gay. When you started hanging out with me, I thought you were too. It's an open secret at school and everyone kindly just treats me like a pariah. I figured, guy like you hanging out with me...what else could you want? But you aren't, are you?"

"Not particularly."

"Not particularly." He repeats. "Not particularly....what the hell does that mean?"

"I like girls." I rub my hands on my jeans. "I've never tried anything with another guy."

"Have you thought about it?"

"Once or twice." I shrug. Who hasn't?

"What if I kissed you right now?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know."

"Are you a parrot?" I snap, finally losing patience. "It's 1 am and I'm up a tree. Do you think I'm up here to watch rocks break atmosphere? You're the only friend I've got. I don't want to fuck it up."

"Woah." He leans away from me, taking in my expression. "That's where you're hiding all that pent up rage."

"Yeah...well." I subside, caught off guard by own fervor.

"No, it's good." Now he's leaning forward and a strong part of me wants to jump. The drop is only ten or fifteen feet. I might make it with only a few bruises. "Now I know you're in there."

He kisses me. It's no different than a girl, warm, a little sloppy and confusing. When he pulls away, he's grinning.

"So?"

"It was nice." I try. "Thank you."

"Oh my god!" He laughs, throwing up his hands. "If I hadn't met your parents I would swear you'd been raised by cyborgs."

Expressionless, I look upwards. The meteor shower has begun, bright sparks of light that look like exploding stars. If you don't want to be teased or harassed, you can't react. You must pull in, be a blank slate. The mask buys you time.

Next week, I go out to the movies with Elaine. We make out in the back row and she puts my hand under her shirt. Her breasts are hot against my palm.

Her mother drives me home and Elaine keeps trying to hold on to my hand in the backseat. As soon as the car door shuts behind me, I walk into the woods.

Peter is waiting up the tree and he gives me a blow job while I watch the stairs wink down on us. I concentrate on not falling off the rocking branch.

I am fifteen.

~3~

I kiss you because I want to. Because we might not make it out. I've learned that within reason, you'll follow my lead.

I know about most of the boys you've kissed before. You've slept with at least three of them and were probably contemplating a fourth (Ernest, a musician you met at a club) when Cobb chose you.

The kiss is too fleeting to make an impression. We're running soon after.

I want to try it again.

~2~

A different night, another bottle of wine and Dom was forcing me to talk about my childhood.

"Come on, Arthur..." He wheedled, setting down his red wine. "You can't tell me you didn't go to one high school dance."

"I can because I didn't." I leaned back in my chair, watching him with languid contentment. "Why would I?"

"Girls!" He grinned. "Why else?"

"I got girls just fine without making an ass of myself in the gymnasium."

"You don't know how to dance, do you?"

"Of course he does." Mal purred. She'd had more alcohol than the two of us combined and was nearly asleep on her lounge chair. "He always knows how to move."

"I don't dance."

"That won't do, will it baby?" He said to her.

"It's an important skill to have." She stretched. "So teach him."

"What me?"

"Yes, you darling." She curled up on her side. "You're an excellent dancer."

"I am." He turned on me, eyes flashing. "On your feet."

"Go to hell." I leaned further back in my chair.

He leaned forward with a slow smile gathering on the edges of his lips. I knew I was fifteen seconds from caving. Dom could be very persuasive.

What I came to think of as 'The Arrangement' was something less than a relationship and something more than a friendship. I stayed in their house, settled in the guest room with a claustrophobic half-bath all my own. When other people were over, I was introduced as a dear friend which the bohemian academic crowd they ran with took with aplomb.

I learned them both as intimately as if they had been my spouses.

Mal, nickname only please, was a night owl. Many nights we spent together on their porch, talking until the sun came up. She was well read, a talented cook and mimic. It was a particular hobby of hers to try to make me laugh with her dead on impressions of our mutual associates. Her laugh was thrilling, starting low in her chest and bubbling up into girlish giggles.

When we were on the job, she had incredible focus. Her ability with vocal forgery was ostensibly what she brought to the team, but really, she complimented Dom's architecture. He could build, but she could create. She had an incredible ability to sense missing details.

In bed, she was a force to be reckoned with. In my previous, limited, experience, I was usually a dominating force. With Mal, I learned passivity. She preferred to ride on top me, her hands flat against my chest, nails biting into my skin. With great care, she taught me how to please a woman.

"You cannot go through your life taking." She would inform me crisply, leaning down nip at my neck. "If you cannot give back, who would have you?"

To her, I was a young man in need of teaching. I was her student, her friend to mother and feed up.

And Dom, who even now was rising from his chair to find suitable music for our impromptu dance lesson, was her sun and moon. They were entangled in each other on such a deep visceral level that I wondered what they had done before they knew each other. What kind of people had they been before becoming one?

He went to bed early, sometimes even falling asleep during sex. It irritated me, but Mal laughed it off.

"Don't take it personally." She would kiss his forehead, draw up a blanket over him. "His internal clock is very punctual."

In the morning, he was at his best. He woke up with spiralling, color splattered ideas. Sometimes even before getting dressed, he was bent over his work table drawing up plans. When I'd been there little more than a week, he taught me how to brew espresso using a sleek chrome machine he'd brought with him from Europe. In the early morning, I would make us two tiny glasses to sip.

He liked to teach too, but didn't take questions. If he was making a particular point, he would touch my shoulder or knee as if tactile contact would ensure my understanding. When I was tired of being lectured, I only had to lick my lips or touch my fingers to his. It would derail him in an instant, turning him from teacher to seducer.

Unlike Mal's bulldozing approach, he was subtle, cagey. He liked to draw me out by degrees. While she would only touch me in his presence, he was bolder. In the early morning sun, he would kiss coffee off my lips and pull me inexorably to him. When we were finished, we inevitably wound up in sweaty pile of limbs on their broad couch.

I didn't sleep much those first few months. Of course, I was well fed, sex sated and busy with work. I was too happy to mourn the loss of sleep.

"Not swing." Mal groaned, burying her head in her arms when Dom's chosen music floated out to the porch.

"You don't have to dance to it." Dom kissed her cheek before standing in front of my chair.

"No."

"C'mon, Arthur." He held out his hand. "It'll be good for you."

"No."

"You're one of the most kinetically aware people I've ever met." He grabbed my wrist and pulled me to my feet. "If you can't dance, no one should be able to."

"It's not a question of can." I insisted."It's will."

"Well then, you will."

He set his hand to my back and dipped me into a kiss over my protests. Returned to my feet, I stumbled and he took advantage, twirling me out and pulling me back in.

"Fuck. " I sputtered, but he had me laughing.

The music tangled with the night air.

~1~

"Get the phone!" Rita calls out over the rattle of machinery.

Taking up a rag, I try to remove oil from my fingers before shoving the phone into the crook of my neck.

"Trivia Motors, how may I help you?"

"Hiya, name's Marv. I was wondering if you guys buy used cars?"

"Sometimes. What do you have?"

"1941 DeSoto coupe. My father kept it in good condition for a long time, but it's been sitting around since he died a few years ago."

"Sorry to hear that, sir." I said calmly, hoping none of my sudden eagerness came across. "Is the car in driveable condition now?"

"Not really. Would you guys still take it?"

"How much are you looking to get for it?"

The machine's grumbles cut off and I could hear Rita walking my way.

"I just want it off my lawn." The guy laughed. "Say five, six hundred dollars?"

"Where do you live? I'd need to take a look." I say hurriedly. He rattles off the address and I scribble it down, hanging up just before Rita reaches me.

"Who was that?"

"Friend. Sorry about that."

"Don't be." She pushed at my arm. "Now get back to work. Oil doesn't change itself!"

After work, I take my bike and drive out to the Marv's address. The car sits on his lawn, looking fit for the scrap heap. The paint job is a mess, a wheel is missing and the windshield has a hairline fracture. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

I knock on the door and tell Marv I'll take it. When I promise to pay for it's relocation myself, he takes a hundred dollars off the price. It's still a hit to my small savings account, but I don't care. Edward agrees to haul it back to our house with his truck where it sits for the next three months in a perpetual state of repair.

I do all the work myself. Father sometimes comes out to watch me. He's out of work and I can tell he'd like to join me, but I can't bring myself to ask and he can't seem to offer. Instead, he watches, a beer in one hand. We've never been any good at talking to each other.

Parts are hard to come by. I order some of them through the shop, but sometimes they're just too expensive.

"The junkyard." Rita recommends after I tell her about my issue. "They'll sell them sometimes."

The yard is only a few miles away from my house. I bike there, slowing to a stop outside the gates. An elderly man dozes by the gate, a rifle in his lap. The fence is tall and spiked with barbed wire.

"What do you want?" He growls when I set down my bike.

"I want to buy some car parts, if you have them."

He closed his eyes.

"Fuck off. "

"Excuse me?" Politeness to cover anger. Mother's technique. "I have the money."

"I know you're family. You're all a bunch of punk assholes. Used to beat up my boy for no good reason. I ain't selln' nuthin to you."

"Sorry, sir. But that wasn't me."

"Do I look like I give a shit? You all look alike anyway. Dead eyes, the lot of you. What else can you expect? Raised by a burnt out vet and his frigid bitch of a wife. Surprised the whole lot of you aren't serial killers."

Rage boils in my veins, but I only get back on my bike and drive away. I have no compunctions about what to do now. I spend the next three nights staking out the junkyard. The old man stays near his little house, all the lights turn off early. In the shadows, I make my plan.

It requires me to balance near the top of the fence while silently cutting through the wire. The wire cutter is the easiest thing to put my hands on.

"Can I borrow some tools?" I ask the back of Father's head. When he turns around his face is bathed in the flickering light of the television.

"Put 'em back right where you found them."

"Of course."

He turns back with a sharp nod. The junkyard man was wrong. Father isn't burnt out. He's hardened. A thick metal shell drawn tight to the flesh. All of of my brothers try to mimic it, but even Joshua would admit that for us it's only a game. A pale imitation of the real thing.

Father's tool bench lurks in the garage, shoved up and useless when cars are in residence. The wire cutter sits towards the end of the perfect line of instruments. The bench always looks ready for surgery. Father never repairs, he operates.

Wire cutter secured, I need wire to test on. The hardware store has a gauge I guess at close enough. The old willow tree suffices as a testing ground. It takes two weeks of late night practice before I'm convinced that I can complete the task. I wait another two days for the new moon.

I set up watch and wait for the light's in the old man's house to go off. Than I give it another twenty minutes. When I'm sure that everything is quiet, I start to scale the fence. Near the top, I stop. Hooking my feet into the fence, I balance myself carefully and start to clip at the hard wire.

The gauge is thicker than what I practiced on. By the time I cut through, my legs are sore and my arms ache. I climb over the fence carefully avoiding the jagged edges of the cut wire. The ground is a welcome relief.

It doesn't take long to find all the piles of car parts. It's hog heaven. I sort quietly through them, pulling out various likely looking pieces until I find what I'm looking for. It's hard to tell in the dark, but I squirrel them away in my back pack until the seams stretch.

Greedy with success, I turn to the next aisle my fingers itching. A low growl disturbs my movement. In all my nights of watching, I had never seen a dog. It was a miscalculation, a dangerous one.

"Good boy." I say quietly, holding my hand out flat in front of me.

It doesn't budge from it's low, threatening squat. The fence isn't far and I start to edge my way to it without turning around. The dog follows me, not barking, only watching me with dark eyes. When I reach the fence, I have to turn around and I start up it slowly. The weight of the backpack becomes a problem as I try not to rattle the fence.

The dog sits, staring up at me as I struggle upwards. When I reach the top, I breath a sigh of relief. Ready to be gone, I scrambled over only to hear a moist ripping noise. It takes me several seconds to connect the noise to a sudden flare of pain that lights up everyone of my nerves. I tried to keep going, but I'm stuck.

I suck in a deep breath, calling on every moment of my old karate training to keep my mind calm. Reaching down, I blindly found the barb and unhook it from my flesh. It springs loose erratically and scratches at my hand before I'm clear of it entirely. Then I need only climb down again.

When I land, I turn to see the dog is up on its hind legs sniffing the fence where I've left a few drops of blood. It licks them up, clearing away the evidence.

"Good dog."

I reach my stashed bike, but there's no way I can ride it home. The pain in my leg is only getting worse. There was a payphone only a mile away, but the walk is long in the dark. By the time I reach it, I can feel every millimeter of the tear in my leg. When I pick up the phone with shaking hands, it took me a minute to figure out who to call.

"Hello?" A sleep voice rang out over the line.

"Peter." He had his own line. Elaine couldn't answer the phone this late at night without question. My parents would have too many questions.

"Arthur?" He slurred. "What the hell man?"

"I need you to come get me and take me to the hospital." I say, happy to hear the steadiness in my voice.

"What the fuck happened?" But he's already getting out of bed, I can hear him searching for clothes.

"I'll tell you all about it, just come get me."

When he pulls up, it's with a sleepy look that widens with surprise as I throw the clanking backpack into his back seat and my bike into his trunk.

"Arthur. Do I want to know?"

"No." I took off my sweater and fold it underneath me before sitting. I don't want to ruin his upholstery.

"You smell like shit." He slammed the car into reverse. "And your pants are covered in blood."

"Yes."

"Did you do something illegal?"

"Yes."

"Goddamnit." He grinds the gears into drive and tears off down the road. "Why?"

"He called my mother names." I close my eyes, starting to feel sick.

"Dude, no offense, but you're mother is fucking bizarre. Everyone tells you that and you never say anything about it."

"I do. You just don't know about it."

"Christ." He rolls down a window and spits. "What am I going to do with you?"

"Drive me to the hospital."

"I swear to fucking God, being your friend is way too fucking hard."

He won't leave me at the hospital. While I wait for a doctor to see me, he sits next to me on the hard plastic chairs and reads me articles about the economy. When I get twenty-seven stitches, he tells the nurse about how awful he feels about letting me ride home on my bike in the dark. By the time he's done spinning her a story, she has lost all interest in what really happened.

"You didn't have to cover for me." I say when we get back into his car.

"Yes, I did." He reached over and squeezed my shoulder. "You're a fucking weirdo, but you're my fucking weirdo. Next time you do something stupid, make sure you have a partner."

The parts I stole did the trick. Within weeks, the Desoto purrs to life under my hands. The first thing I do is take it out to Peter's house. The next thing I do is pick up Elaine. Neither of them is happy the other is there until we're miles out of town. Then they realize that they share a mutual pet peeve in my silence.

My car is soon full of their voices and laughter.

Next time, I will go in with a team. I've learned my lesson.

I am seventeen.

~3~

You promise me that Cobb is going to be all right. We're dripping wet on the bank of an imaginary river, watching our van sink out of sight.

"How do you know?" I ask, trying to ignore the sudden sharp grief rising in my chest.

You don't have an answer. When we wake up to the plane, you turn around with a soft smile.

"Faith." You say and point to where Saito's eyes are beginning to open.

I decide to borrow on your faith for a while. You seem to have enough to go around.

~2~

When Mal announced her first pregnancy, I took it on like a job. I bought books, researched doctors and found catalogs of baby furniture.

"Relax." Dom clapped me on the shoulder when he caught me pouring over my books. "You'd think this was your kid."

Of course it wasn't. We were cautious, always. Yet, something compelled me. I withdrew myself from the guest room, resettling in the basement. I repainted my old room in a soft yellow under Mal's approving eyes.

"You're very good to us." She would say, wrapping her arms around me from behind. "What would we do without you?"

"Probably hire someone to do this." I admitted, turning my head to receive a kiss. She obliged.

It was uneventful pregnancy and Philipa agreeably came into the world in the afternoon with little fuss. I sat in the waiting room on hard plastic chairs while Mal labored down a corridor clinging to Dom's hand. Hours after a nurse announced the birth to me, Dom appeared in the doorway.

"C'mere." He grinned. Sweat was plastered to his forehead and a few drops of blood were scattered over his borrowed hospital greens.

Mal slept in the hospital bed, the stark white of the linens making her look fragile. The bassinet next to her bed was a profusion of pink.

"Hold out your arms." Dom instructed.

Dumbfounded, I held them out to have them filled by the delicate bundle. I supported her head as I had read about and curled the rest of my body around her.

"She's beautiful." I told him, surprised at the rasp in my voice.

"Yeah." He sat down on the bed, picking up one of Mal's hands. "She's incredible."

"Phillipa." My thumb swept across her cheek.

"Stay for a while, will you?" Dom yawned and curled up behind Mal over the covers. "I need to take a quick nap. Not going to get a lot of sleep from here on out."

Under the sharp florescents, I stood guard. It never occurred to me to set her back into her basket.

~1~

"You want to tell me what this is?" Father sets the letter down next to my dinner place.

Mother serves me a lump of mashed potato. For the first time, I wish Edward or Tony, hell even Joshua were still here. They're all in the service now, following in Father and Caleb's shoes. Dinner has become a generally quiet affair.

"Did you open it?" I ask, picking it up.

"No." He frowns down at the mashed potato. "We can't afford college."

"This doesn't cost money." I trace my finger over the seal.

"The army wasn't good enough for you?" My mother asks, setting down the bowl. "It was good enough for Caleb."

"This is still the army." With my butter knife I split the top open.

"Well?" Father rumbled.

The paper unfolds in my hands, a complete packet of information.

"I got in."

"That's my boy!" Father claps me on the back. "Be good to have an officer in the family. You always did have to show up better than your brothers."

"No good will come of it." Mother mutters at her plate. "Rising above your family."

"Pay attention." Father barks at her, startling us both. "Boy's always been better than the rest of us anyway."

"Father-"

"We didn't name you Arthur just because we ran out of names." He tells me.

"I liked the story." Mother rains peas down over my mashed potatoes.

I am eighteen.

~3~

Originally, my plans upon landing in LA were very simple. Take a hired car all way up to Oregon where I could get lost for a few days. Maybe go hiking, maybe just find a high priced hotel with good wine and wile away some time.

My cellphone starts vibrating the minute I turn it back on. E-mails flooding in, missed calls. There's a job, a tidy one for a man I've worked for before. It's something I could probably handle on my own. A clean extraction with an unpracticed mark. Diligent research and a simple bit of architecture, all very manageable.

But I've learned the pitfalls of working alone. That's the reasoning I use when I see you standing with your bag tired and wane. I signal to the driver to wait.

"Where are you headed?"

"Paris." You turn and smile at me. "You?"

"Work. I'll be needing a new partner."

"What kind of job?" You ask, but you're already agreeing, stepping towards me. "What about the corporation? Aren't they still after you?"

"That's been cleared up by our mutual benefactor." Saito made a very generous phone call, along with his generous payment. "It's a simple extraction."

I wasn't sure how we'd work together without the team. Dom and I had worked nearly comfortably as a duo with an ever changing cast of thirds to monitor us, but that was Dom. You...you are entirely different.

~2~

The light still filled the kitchen as it had the first day I'd arrived here. I stood at the stove, splitting an egg into a bowl.

"Wanna help." Phillipa tugged on my pants.

Pancakes were her favorite, so I watched Mal prepare them carefully and took over Sunday morning breakfast duty.

"You can butter the pan." I lifted her up and set her on the counter.

"Yay!" She took the pan and the pat of butter, making a happy mess out of the project.

"No more Sesame Street?"

"Uh uh."

I could hear the last of the program babbling to itself in the other room as I stirred the batter into a froth.

"All done?"

"Yes!" She held up messy hands and I cleaned them the best I could with a paper towel before setting her back on the ground.

"Sit down at the table. Breakfast will be ready in a minute."

"Wanna go to the playground?" She asked hopefully as I poured the batter into the pan.

"After we eat."

The two of us shared pancakes in the early morning light. The conversation was light, mostly revolving around Elmo. When we'd finished, I gave her a bath and dressed her for the playground. We walked outside and down the street to the silent elementary school. With great giddiness she lifted her arms for the toddler swing.

The day was growing warm and lit up her hair as I pushed her up and up. Her giggles spilled over the open grass. When the swing grew boring, she led me on a merry chase around the grounds, her chubby legs churning through the sand.

Eventually though, home was called for and we took the long way back. When we reached the house, Dom and Mal were waiting. They both had steaming mugs in their hands and serious looks on their faces.

"Mama!" Phillipa ran to her chair and threw her arms around Mal's legs. "Uncle Ar'tur took me to the playground!"

"I can see that." Mal stroked her daughter's hair.

"Mommy and Daddy need to talk to Uncle Arthur for a minute, sweetie." He smiled at her. "Go on inside, we'll be there in a second."

"Ok!" She ran inside. I begged her silently to come back.

"We have to talk, Arthur." Mal started, then stopped.

"It's just that-" Dom sighed. "I don't know how to say this."

"We think maybe, it's time that you moved out." She said quickly.

"We're pregnant again." Dom said filling the sudden silence. "And with the new baby and Phillipa getting older..."

"There will be questions. Some confusion." She wouldn't look at me.

"She's getting so attached to you." He twirled his wedding ring on his finger. "And we're using you as a babysitter. It isn't fair to you."

"Thank you for making that decision for me." I brushed sand off of my jacket. "Clearly, I was unable to speak for myself."

"Arthur!" She protested. "That is not what he meant."

"I've been thinking about leaving the country." I hadn't been, but suddenly the idea appealed. "Set up a base in Europe. I can get us jobs there. If we're still working together?"

"You don't have...to we didn't mean that you had to go quite that far." He grimaced.

"I'll start packing up my things." I dug my fingernails into my palms and walked away.

No one called me back. I headed into the basement. There wasn't much to take. I had a three piece luggage set purchased for long-term jobs away from home. I packed hurriedly, barely aware of what I was piling into them. When they seemed full, I carried them upstairs. No one was in sight. Outside, the Desoto gleamed under the carpark, but it was currently out of commission. I hadn't had time to repair a broken fuel pump.

I called for a car. I could always have the Desoto shipped when I got settled. Waiting on the edge of the driveway, it was almost like leaving for a job. A few times, I saw the curtains stir and I wondered if they were contemplating stopping me.

They didn't. Perhaps they assumed this was a brief sulk of some kind and that I would return to my senses, move into a local apartment complex and remain some kind of over involved family friend.

The car arrived. When the door shut, blocking out the sight of the house, I started to make a phone call. Halfway through, my fingers slid from the keys in remembrance. I pressed the palm of my hand against my head and breathed deeply until I could focus again. The friends of my past were gone. I had to think of the future.

Numbly, I dialed a different number.

"Arthur, my friend!" Daphne boomed in my ear. "Usually it is I doing the calling of you, what can I do for you?"

"I'm looking for work in your part of the world."

"At last! How long do I tell you that you can't do the work of those silly Americans. So pedestrian!"

"Daphne, I'm American."

"Nien, you to me are honorary German. Look, you come as soon as possible. I have nice job lined up. Very good for the pocket book."

"Is it legal?" I asked idly. "The line is clean."

"Ah...it is not exactly on the up and up. An extraction."

"Fine. I'll need a real estate agent."

"So you are staying to! Ah! This is a good day."

By the time I landed in Berlin, my new life was set. Within the week I had an apartment, a new team and the beginnings of a criminal record.

It turned out that I had left a few necessary things in America. I bought replacements for all of them. Including my totem.

I'd lost my taste for chess. I needed a game I was more sure of winning.

~1~

"Hey, you got a minute? Calculus is killing me." My roommate complains.

"Yeah, in a minute." I finish the sentence I was typing.

The phone rings.

"I'll get it!" He lunges for it, snatching it off the hook. "Hello? Oh...one second, he's right here. It's for you."

"Thanks." I thrust the phone into the crook of my arm. "Arthur speaking."

"Oh god. Hi. It's Elaine." She sounds awful, teary and choked.

"What's wrong?"

"It's Peter. He...oh god, Arthur...it was awful."

"Take it slow." My hand clenches around the phone until the plastic creaks in protest.

"I...he sent me this package from college. Just a few things of his in it, CDs, books that kind of thing."

"Yes, I got one too."

The card had dictated that it was for my birthday and contained an antique watch, one that had been passed down from his grandfather. When I called to protest, he hadn't been in his room. I was wearing it now. I could hear the soft tick under the swell of her voice.

"He was giving his things away." She starts to sob. "At first they just thought he'd just gone home for the weekend, that's what he told his roommate. When he didn't come back, they called his house. His parents never saw him."

"Elaine-"

"He's dead." She cries. "He came all the way back home, but never said anything to anyone. A hunter found him in the woods. Hung himself up on a tree."

"A willow."

"Yeah, I figured you'd know what it meant." She blew her nose. "You two were always running off out there."

"When's the funeral?"

I wrote as she spoke, feeling disconnected from everything. It wasn't until the next day when I contacted my instructors to beg a brief leave of absence that I noticed my notes were in our old cipher code.

I am twenty.

~3~

I choose Houston because it holds no past for either of us. We can breath there for a span of time. The first few days, I retreat. I need to think, to process. Before the heat of the day sets in, I walk to the library. I hide myself in a carrel and read books off the mental list I've been carrying for two years.

The gift of time is incredibly. I can lose myself for hours. When I grow hungry, I find restaurants and persuade them into providing take out. I enjoy watching you eat. You eat like each bite is startling to you, a unique flavor totally unlike what came before.

The business cards are a whim, ultimately useless, but I know they will mean something to you. You crave permanence.

"You can only order them in large batches." I sit down across from you. "The number is a disposable. They won't be good for very long."

"That's all right." You take a few, pleased. "Do we have a job?"

"No. I'm waiting on a few leads."

Your model is spectacular though the paper refused to bend to your attempts to defy realty.

"Then what do you want to do tonight?" You ask. I have no response. The space between us has been comfortable. I thought you preferred it. "I can go sit alone in my bedroom again and watch TV until my brain rots, but I think it'd be nicer to do something."

"What would something be?"

"I don't know. See a movie, or a show. Go to a museum. Anything."

Anything. The sudden sense of potential spreads through me. I look at you afresh as you jostle in next to me on the bus. Your cheeks pink and you incline yourself towards me with unconscious appeal.

By the end of our evening together, I will tell you more than I have told anyone about myself in years. I saw you work on Dom with the same single minded interest.

The next morning, instead of going to the library, I make a phone call.

"Hello?" A crisp woman answers the phone.

"Hello m'am, this is Roger Morris, we talked briefly a while ago?"

"Mr. Morris." She drawls. "Ah yes, you're from the Ariadne's new job. You ran her background check."

"Exactly. You have an excellent memory."

"It was an unusual call."

"This one may be even more unusual." I warn. "Part of my job is relocation. Ariadne is being transferred to our Dublin office."

"I see. She didn't mention that."

"She hasn't been informed yet." I duck into a cafe and sit at table in the back. "To be honest, we we're still waiting to see how her next project turns out. But someone upstairs is pretty confident in her. They asked me to get the ball rolling."

"Why are you telling me?" She's suspicious now and I tread gently.

"Well..." I cough as if nervous. "This is a little outside of protocol. I just...I like your daughter a lot, m'am and I thought it would be nice if we could make the corporate housing a little more homey for her."

"Young man, this sounds wildly inappropriate..."

"I think she'd really appreciate it!" I protest. "Just a few knick-knacks from home can make all the difference. I wouldn't even tell her it was my idea."

"I suppose it is a nice gesture." She sighs. "She doesn't have much here. I'm not sure what she'd even want."

"I'll send on a few boxes, postage prepaid. Thank you so much, m'am. This means a lot to me."

"Yes, well. I keep meaning to turn her old room into a paint studio." She sounds vague. "Goodbye, Mr. Morris."

The phone clicks in my ear. I had not expected such easy capitulation nor was I going to complain. The Paris apartment is an easier task. I call movers and tell them where you keep your spare keys.

It's possible that you will not thank me for this, but I cannot bring myself to stop. I want everything to be open, welcoming to you. I want you never to leave.

~3~

They send me pictures. The baby was a handsome strong boy, Phillipa grew like a weed. Short e-mails accompany them with friendly updates. All of them are signed by 'The Cobb Family', but the writing style was all Mal.

I look at them a long time before responding. I send back two or three line notes. "Doing well. Thank you for the pictures." That kind of thing.

It was easier not to think about them. At first, I chalked up the cessation of e-mails to them finally moving on. Forgetting. I took it too personally.

Then I started to hear the rumors. The Cobbs weren't working any more. He was still doing jobs occasionally on his own, but it was sloppy and rushed. Not to his usual standards. It took months of rumors before I could finally bring myself to call.

"Hello?" Her soft voice enfolded me and for a brief instant, I feel compelled. I want to go home. I shake it away. Home was Berlin now.

"Mal, it's Arthur."

"Oh. Arthur. Have you ever wondered how we can fabricate things?" It was her late night voice. Her confessional tone. It embarrassed me that I remembered that still. I had forgotten nothing.

"Excuse me?"

"How vivid things are!" She laughed. "I can hear you, cleanly crisply on the line. And what does my subconscious conjure you for? What demon do you represent?"

"Are you high?" I asked. "Where are the children?"

"Their grandmother has them. I am sorry, you know. If that's why you're reaching out to me."

"I'm not. I heard things aren't going well."

"Things aren't going at all."

"Mal-"

"When you left your totem behind, didn't you wonder?" She asked, cutting me off. "Didn't you think that maybe none of this was what it seemed?"

"No." I choked. "I knew it was real."

"How?"

"Because if it was my dream, I never would have left."

In the background, I hear a muffled 'Baby, who's on the phone?' and a short shuffle.

"Hello?" He sounded tired.

"Dom." I deliberately unclenched my fist. "What the hell is going on?"

"Arthur." He let out a long shaky breath. "Mal's having....reality issues."

"I can see that. Are you getting her help?"

"It's not paranoia if someone is really after you."

"What do you mean?"

"Maybe she has reason to doubt. There was...we went somewhere we shouldn't have."

"Limbo. Jesus fucking Christ, Dom. Why? How?"

He cleared his throat. "Listen, she's not doing so great and we're running low on cash. Run a job with me?"

"Dom..."

"I'll come to you. I've got a lead on something in Italy."

When I met him at the airport, it was jarring. There was a weight around his shoulders now. His gaze was always fixed on a point I couldn't see. I let him stay in my guest room and at night, through the wall, I could hear him pleading with her on the phone. The sound of his begging followed me into dreams.

During the day, he worked devilishly hard, silent as a wraith. He answered no questions and told me nothing worth hearing.

"Thanks for this." He said when we'd finished, pocketing our paycheck. "Got to keep the homestead afloat."

"Call me." I ordered before he could get away. "If I can help."

"You can't." He pat me on the shoulder. "See you."

~1~

"Do you know why you've been asked here?" An officer stands before me and three other cadets.

"No, sir." We answer as one.

"You've been chosen for an exciting new project." He actually looks excited. Excited enough to make us all shift nervously. "I'll let the Doctor explain."

A mousy man with a huge moustache steps forward.

"What we are going to show you is top secret." The moustache quivers. "You have all been chosen based not only on your excellent school records, but your ability to be discreet. It is paramount that no one finds out about what we do here.

"We have discovered a way to share dreams." He catches each of our eyes. "It is the perfect way to train. You will fight real enemies, in genuine combat situations. You will feel all the pain of a real wound. The danger will be very real. But! If you die, you wake up! It is an incredible technology that will change the way we do everything!"

"It has already been extensively tested in more mundane ways." The officer steps back up. "But you are the first group to undergo the training simulations. Be proud, boys. You'll be making history."

~3~

"I've got a good hunch about some real estate. A home base. If you like it, I'll buy it." I zip close my suitcase and try not to look you in the eye.

"We. Or me. You don't even really want a place to stay." You say, already with your dander up.

"Of course I do. It was my idea wasn't it?"

"But you like this. The moving and the not owning anything that can't fit in two suitcases and a carry on."

You're right, of course. I have grown accustom to rootlessness.

"I don't like it. It's just how it was."

"So if we get a place, you'll what? Settle down? Stay there more than a few weeks a year?"

I can imagine it. Crave it.

"We have to work."

"Do we? We have more than enough money now."

"How long do you think you could go now without going under? A week? A month?"

I hear echos of Dom and Mal on that dark street.

"We have to do better." You sit, curling in on yourself. "Be better. If we don't need the money, let's not take the money jobs."

"What else is there?"

"What did you do before Mal died? She didn't sound like the type of person that would be into theft. She had kids to protect."

"No." I will my mind to go blank, not to remember. "It was different then. We did jobs like what we did for Michael. Reaching people that can't be reached any other way. But even then, we went in for federal authorities, did things that would have been against the law if anyone had allowed for dream sharing."

"We can do that." You put your arms around me, but I cannot concede. Not yet. "We can do good things, be decent people."

"They tried. And look what happened to them."

"So we learn from their mistakes. Make new rules. No dream sharing except for work. Nothing experimental. We do what we know how to do at the right time and place."

"And what if we don't work out?" I pull away.

"Then we act like grownups and acknowledge that we're still business partners." Your face sharpens. "I know you can manage that."

I narrow my eyes. I can hear the implied accusation and it doesn't take long to piece it together.

"Daphne's been talking."

"Well, you never do." You shake your head at me. "Look, I don't care about whatever it was though if you ever want to talk to me about it, I'm willing to listen. I just want to have a fair shot at being your partner. I want to go in half with you on this place we're buying."

I remind myself to borrow on your faith.

"Real estate....Pretty big step with someone you've only kissed." I tease. I see you lighten in response.

"Consider it a down payment on the relationship."

I sit down next to you, put an arm around your shoulders.

"Dublin." I say as if it just came to mind. "It's large enough, good airport. Doesn't get particularly hot or cold."

~1~

I steel myself, posture ramrod straight before knocking.

"Come." The officer barks.

The office is devoid of anything personal. Everything about it screams temporary and makeshift. They are ready to move the project at any point.

"At ease, kid." The officer pointed to a seat. "Tell me what's on your mind."

"I have some concerns about the recent training sessions, sir." I don't sit.

"What's that?"

"Sir, I've become aware that the nature of the sessions changed."

"That's what happens. If they were the same every time, they wouldn't be very effective, would they?" He says gently, giving me a last out.

"You are no longer training us, sir. I would estimate that for the last three months, we have been performing missions. Your decision not to inform us of that concerns me."

Nothing moves. I can hear my heart beat in the silence.

"Even if that were true, what do your propose to do about it?"

"Your sending soldiers into battle unprepared and without their knowledge, sir." I swallow my fear. "I think it's immoral. If it doesn't cease than I will take action."

"The army fed, clothed and educated you. Maybe we haven't been completely honest with you." He fiddles with a pen. "But you knew coming in that you might not always have all the information at any time."

"At the time that seemed acceptable." Anything to get away, get out. "It's my training that's getting in the way, sir. I want to be a good leader. I can't in good conscience do that when they don't know the truth of the matter."

"No one ever knows the entire truth. That's a part of life."

"But they can choose to know more."

"You're not really cut out for the military, are you?" He sets down his pen. "I hand picked this team, including you. Your whole family served."

"Yes."

"Except they enlisted. You went through West Point. That chip on your shoulder must've been awfully heavy."

"I'm not sure how that's relevant."

"It's relevant because I'm going to do you a big favor." He regards me for a long moment. "Maybe one day you'll even thank me for it."

"Sir?"

"Rather than write you up or send your ass to Antarctica, I'm going to let you leave."

I exhaled shakily.

"I don't want to leave, sir. I just think-"

"That's your problem right there." He snorts. "Thinking is good to a point. You think the others haven't figured it out? They know better. If they shut up and take it, they can leave this project with a promotion and a cushy assignment to wait out the end of their tour.

"So this is what I'm going to do. I'm going to pick up the phone and explain to my direct superior that after an unfortunate incident, you should receive an honorable discharge. This would be contingent on your silence. You talk to a single reporter and you'll be in prison so fast your head will spin. And I'll see there's enough red tape between you and your trial that you rot there. Clear?"

"Very."

I try not to think of the phone call I'll have to make home. Whatever respect I garnered in the last few years will disappear. The paperwork will say honorable, but it won't fool Father or my brothers. They'll assume the most obvious, of course. That I've been caught doing something indiscreet. That I was asked and told.

It all happens in a matter of hours. That morning I was a promising officer in the United States Army. By midnight I'm a civilian.

When I leave, the only people out and about are a couple, lost in each other. I pass close to them. They are a handsome pair, both in suits, legs entwined and laughing.

I am twenty-four.

~2~

The ring of the phone startled me out of a deep sleep. I fumbled for it, fighting a hard yawn.

"What?" I snap.

"She's dead."

I sat up, sleep falling away.

"Dom? Where are you?"

"She kept trying...I couldn't stop her. She just jumped." There are voices in the background.

"Where are you?"

"She set me up, Arthur." There was a pause and a sound of someone throwing up. "Fuck. I've got to go. The kids..."

"Dom!"

The line went dead. I started to calculate time in my head. This late, I would have a hard time getting a flight. If I took the first plane out in the morning, I could be at the house by late afternoon. I pulled out my suitcase and started to pack.

Halfway through, I had to stop. My hands were shaking. I sat down next to my open suitcase. Mal was dead. I would never get to hold her again. Would never get to apologize for whatever hurts I'd left untended. We would never close the rift that had opened between us.

With trembling fingers, I picked Peter's watch off my bedside table and slipped it on. The tick was soothing, counting away unarguable seconds. Morbidly, I wondered if it was something about me. Arthur king. Revered, respected, except by those he held most dear. Lancelot and Guinevere. Even his own son. Ultimately, he died alone on the battlefield.

"Get the fuck over yourself." I snapped into the darkness. "Be effective."

The sun started to rise while I finished my preparations. The phone rang again. This time, I check the ID. Dom again.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm coming to you. I've got a job."

"What? Dom, you need to stay right there. I can be there in a few hours. Get the children settled, arrange the funeral."

"You don't understand. I have to leave the country. She set me up, Arthur. She wanted to take me with her. But I won't go. I can't. The kids..."

"I can watch the kids. Damnit Dom, you can't leave."

"I have to. I'll be in Berlin on the seven o'clock. Pick me up. I'll explain then."

"Fine." I could get him back home once he go there. Get him to come to his senses. "I'll be there."

"Thanks."

As soon as I was sure he was off the line, I called Miles.

"Ah, yes. I had hope you'd call." He greeted in his clipped accent. We'd never interacted much, but I respected the old man.

"He's on his way here. What's going on?"

"It doesn't look good." He sounded awful and it hit me that he has just lost a daughter. My gut twisted. "She fell from fortieth story of their usual hotel on their anniversary night. The room was in shambles. They'd been fighting a lot, any one could attest to that."

"She sounded strange last time we spoke."

"Yes. We've all been concerned."

"And Dom..."

"He fled the scene. Admittedly, had he stayed, I'm sure they would have taken him into custody."

"He said she set him up."

"I can't believe that. But then again, I can't believe he'd kill her either."

"What should I do when he gets here?"

"Well...." Miles paused then said quietly. "I'm afraid I have to ask you something very unfair."

"Yes?"

"You need to stay with him. I fear that with all the pressure... It might be a near thing."

"Right." I took the die in my pocket and let it slip across my fingers.

"He needs you right now. Someone who knows him and won't let him slip away."

"Yes." I tumbled the die onto the table. "And I'm that person?"

"You're the only one left."

Disconcerted, I made the last of reassurances before hanging up. The rest of the day I spent on my couch, trying to keep my mind carefully blank until it was time to pick Dom up from the airport.

I had once wondered what Dom and Mal would be like without each other. Now, I wished I had never found out. The man who got into my car looked nothing like the one I had once known. He didn't even bare a resemblance to the worn out one of a few months ago.

This was a man utterly broken. I took him home, poured him into my bed and left him there. I doubt either of us slept. I didn't dare climb in next to him. Too much time and pain had passed for that to be anything more than an insult to her memory.

In the morning, he laid out a job and I nodded along. When he was done explaining, he faltered.

"She lost touch with reality." He took a long sip of water. "She wanted us to commit suicide so we could get back."

"Shit. What about her totem?"

"She lost faith in it." He sat the glass down gingerly as if it might shatter. "Lost faith in me, the children...nothing could convince her."

"And she just jumped?"

"Yes."

"Dom..."

"She jumped. Right in fucking front of me." He said firmly.

"You can tell me." I tried to sound reassuring, but it clearly didn't come off that way.

"Goddamnit, Arthur!" He stood up from the table fast enough to turn over the glass. Water soaked his blueprints. "I didn't kill her! You of all people know how it was."

"All right. Calm down. I'm sorry."

"Are you?"

"No." I caught his hand before he could pace away. "I'm not. I have to ask, Dom. That's what I do. You want me to be your point man, fine, but I have to know what's at my back."

"Let go of me." He demanded. I dropped his hand like it burned me.

"Can you do this job?"

"Yes." He ripped a paper towel off the roll and started to wipe up the spilled water. "I wouldn't ask you otherwise."

~3~

Making love to you on the bed we choose together does something strange to me. Your body under my hands, the scent of your sex in my nose wipes away the past. The constant ache in my back dissipates under the sweep of your fingers. My pulse quiets on the touch of your lips.

You are a revelation to me. Even when I'm already naked before you, you want to strip me further down. In blunt, curious questions you unpeel me.

"I thought you were going to let me talk about this in my own time." I plead.

"You don't have to answer." You spit toothpaste into the sink. I don't have to, but it's clear that if I go on in my silence I will not get to keep you.

"You make me want to be honest."

"Good." You push past me, a smile on your face. "Go make me breakfast!"

"Demanding." I joke, but it's a pleasure to cook for you.

The large windows I knew you would desire fill the kitchen with light and I am suffused with memory as I attempt something new.

Today, I will decorate our apartment with your things. Remnants of your past that you will want to bring into your future. I have no such items, save the watch on my wrist. I prefer my past stay buried and separate. Yet, I know this will not suffice for you. You build on the foundations of what came before you.

I will have to take a gamble. For the first time in many years, I long for the misplaced iron king. I could use it's weight in my hand.

~1~

The night air should have cooled my head. Instead, tension crawled across my skin. I know that feeling. A quick glance and I find her.

"What is she doing here?" I growl.

I hated her. A conjured amalgamation filled with viciousness and spite. The first time I saw her, dancing through my mind, I was sure it was my projection. That I had summoned her in my grief, but no version of Mal in my mind would ever sabotage a job. It was Dom she was after. A part of me hated him too, for subjecting me to her.

"I'll take care of it." He said, striding off.

"See that you do." I snapped.

Already, my mind was working. I had promised Miles to look after him and I had. Two years of my life, the apartment in Berlin and a small fraction of sanity had disappeared into being his babysitter.

And where had it gotten me?

Shot in the kneecap by a part of his head. The dark brown eyes that used to caress me turned hard with anger and insanity.

"That's the only apology you're getting." He told me later, a parody of a smile on his face. "Where are you headed?"

"Stateside." Where he cannot follow. The time has come to take back my life from the Cobbs.

Of course, that all goes to shit with Saito.

~2~

"This is Ariadne." Cobb said.

"Hi." She smiled and looked far too young to be dragged into this mess.

"A pleasure." Her hand had a few specks of ink and it made me like her immediately.

"Put her under will you?" Dom was already shedding his jacket, rolling up his sleeve.

After she stormed out, Dom reassured me:

"She'll be back."

And now I'm forced to wonder if he already knew. If somehow, his choice of architect was deliberate not only for the job. I like to think so.

~3~

We're sitting in the dark. My voice is hoarse. I cannot remember ever saying so much at such a length.

"Why didn't he tell you?" You ask, the first thing you've said since I began. "I told him that he had to tell someone about what was going on with Mal. You knew so much already, why couldn't he just..."

"Tell me that he'd killed her?" I find one of your hands and bring it to my mouth with a kiss. "He did, no matter how you want to look at it. I loved her. Not like he did, but it was real. If he told me, helping him would have been the last thing on my mind."

"Yet each man kills the thing he loves/By each let this be heard,/Some do it with a bitter look,/ Some with a flattering word..." You recite.

"The coward does it with a kiss/ The brave man with a sword." I finish, you look at me in surprise.

"Oscar Wilde." I supply. "I went to school too."

"And which are you?" You ask, eyes wide.

"Neither." Slowly, I reverse our positions until you are caught and held in my arms. I bury my face in your hair. "I find, in that metaphor, I tend to be the thing loved."

"I'm not a killer." You tilt back your head to kiss my jaw. "Thank you. For telling me. I...I'll need time to think."

"And time..."

"Is something we have plenty of."


	3. We Walk Through Fire

You have reached 915-555-5555. Leave a message.

Dom, it's Arthur. Call me.

 

ring, ring ri-

"Daphne?"

"Young lady!"

"How are you?"

"Very good. I am flush from a job, so do not think to beg me to join you."

"I'll keep that in mind. Actually, I wanted to know if you'd like to come to a party?"

"A party? Are you in Germany?"

"No, we're home. We're having a get together. We'd like you there."

"When?"

"June 1st."

"For you, young lady, I will come!"

"Thanks, I'll e-mail you the rest of the details."

 

If you've reached this number, you're either a friend or a telemarketer. You can both fuck off after the beep. BEEP.

"Eames. It's Arthur. We're having a party. If you don't RSVP, I'll fire bomb your house."

 

ring, ring, ring

"Hello?"

"Yusaf."

"Arthur?"

"We require your presence."

"I'm not doing it again! You can't make me!"

"For a party. "

"That was just cruel."

 

You have reached Blazing Sun Industries. Press 1 for Chinese, 2 for English-2. If you know your party's extension, please dial it now. 2-4-6-6 Thank you. Please hold while I try that extension. I'm sorry your party does not seem to be responding. Say yes to leave a message. Yes. I'm sorry, I didn't understand. Please repeat. YES. I'm sorry,I don't understand. YES! Thank you, please leave a message after the beep.

"Saito, you need to invest in a new messaging system. This one has to be losing you customers. Call me. Oh, it's Ariadne."

 

You have reached 915-555-5555. Leave a message.

I'm serious, this is important.

 

Ring ...ring....ring...ring...ring...ring...

"Don't hang up!"

"I'm here."

"Oh. It's you."

"Hello, Penny."

"Is she all right?"

"Yes, she's fine. She asked me to extend a special invitation to a party we're having."

"Look, I know you guys are like secret millionaires, but I can't just drop everything and go to Ireland."

"We've already purchased your tickets and the dress. I hope it's the correct size."

"I hate when you pull this shit....what dress?"

"You can pick it up at Anna's on Rue Aubergine. If any alternations are required, they can be charged to my account."

"What the hell is going on?"

"I told you. We're having a party. The information is in your e-mail now. Good evening."

 

ring...ring....ri-

"Camelot Real Estate, Elaine speaking, how may I help you?"

"Hi. You don't know me, but my name is Ariadne."

"Is there something I can help you with?"

"Yes, actually. You once knew a man named Arthur?"

"Arthur..I, yes. I haven't heard from him in years though."

"Well, he hasn't forgotten you. I was wondering if you'd like to see him again."

"The last time I saw him was at a friend's funeral. I'm...he made it clear that he was done with everything to do with this town."

"He's grown up. I'm sure you have too. We can fly you out to Ireland."

"Ireland? Is this a prank?"

"No, m'am. You can bring your husband along if you like. I think he'd be thrilled to see you. I'd like to meet you too."

"And what did you say your name was?"

"Ariadne. I'll send you more information in an e-mail, it's up to you, but I think it would be good for both of you."

"I'll think about it."

"That's all I ask."

 

You have reached 915-555-5555. Leave a message.

Please.

 

Ring..ring...ring..ring

"Hello?"

"Mom, it's me."

"Hello honey. Is everything all right? It isn't Tuesday night."

"I know. Mom, I've been thinking and I'd really like you to come out for a visit."

"Oh, I don't know, honey. Ireland is so far and I haven't renewed my passport in years."

"Mom, this is important. We decided to throw a party and we'd like to have everyone there. Especially you. We'll pay for your flight and everything."

"I can pay for myself. I make a living."

"I know, Mom. Sorry."

"Well...I haven't taken any vacation time this year. I suppose I could come. But not for long. I'm going to Montreal with the Pro-Choice girls over the summer and I may need to take extra days off work if we get arrested."

"Ok, Mom. Love you."

"You too, dear."

 

ring....ring...ring...ring...

"Hello?"

"Hello, Mother."

"Arthur! Oh, baby, are you all right? Where are you?"

"I'm fine. I'm in Ireland."

"Ireland! What have you been doing? Seven years, Arthur! Seven years without a phone call. You can't imagine...we missed you."

"You both made it clear you didn't approve of my life last time we spoke."

"Oh, Arthur. You're still our son. We were angry, we said ugly things. But you're our son! We love you."

"I needed time to think."

"You always did. I should have known...oh. I spent so many nights not sleeping hoping you were all right. Those postcards...We have every one of them on the refrigerator. Have you really been to all those places?"

"Yes. My job has me moving around a lot."

"Are you still in Dublin?"

"For the past two years. I think we'll be staying here for the foreseeable future."

"We?"

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about."

"Oh! Wait a moment, your father just got home. Dan! Come quick, it's Arthur. Here."

"Arthur?"

"Father."

"Do you know what you did to your mother and I? We've already lost one son."

"I...I'm sorry. I thought..."

"You're our son. I never...we never knew what to do with you, but that didn't mean you could just divorce yourself from us."

"I didn't know what else to do. It's all you ever showed me."

"Why now? Are you in trouble? Do you need money?"

"No. Quite the opposite actually. We're having a party and I wanted you and Mother to come. Edward, Joshua and George and their families too if you want."

"A party where...in Dublin?"

"Yes. A friend of mine owns an airline. He's offered to fly you all out for free."

"Arthur... what have you been doing?"

"Oh. This and that. The tickets are in the mail, I hope you can make it."

"We'll be there. Here's your mother."

"Who's we, Arthur?"

"You'll meet her when you get here, Mother. She's...extraorindary."

"You tell her that we want our son to call more often."

"I will, Mother. See you soon."

 

You have reached 915-555-5555. Leave a message.

You know what? Fuck you.

 

ring...ring...ring...ring

"Hello Ariadne."

"Hi, Professor. I need a phone number."

"You know he asked me not to give that to any of you."

"Personally, I could care less. If he wants to pretend a whole part of his life never existed that's his prerogative."

"But?"

"But it matters to Arthur."

"And how is he?"

"Good. Learning how to be a chemist, if you can imagine that."

"Why?"

"Why not? He likes it. I like him wearing lab coats and goggles. Everyone wins."

"And this number..."

"For our party. Did you get your invitation?"

"I did. Most kind of you to remember your old professor."

"You gave me this life, I'm not likely to forget you."

"You should make the call."

"That was the plan."

"All right. Let me get my datebook.

 

ring....ring....ring...

"Hi!"

"Hi, sweetheart. Is your daddy there?"

"Umm... I dunno. Let me go see."

"Thank you."

"He says to ask who it is."

"My name is Ariadne."

"That's pretty. Mine is Phillipa."

"Nice to meet you, Phillipa."

"Ok, here's my dad, bye Ariadne!"

"Bye!"

"How'd you get this number?"

"Magic. Your daughter sounds cute. She's what? Seven now?"

"Almost eight. I told you, no contact after the job."

"It's been two years, get over it. I'm not calling about a job."

"Then what?"

"He wants to see you again. Phillipa too, I think, but he won't talk about that."

"We don't have any unfinished business."

"Unfinish- You know, I didn't know exactly how emotionally crippled you were, I'd think you were putting on act."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome. Maybe he's about as good as showing it as you are, but he cares about you."

"I've got a new life, I can't just go backward."

"You know what? He was right. Fuck you. You're the master of going backward. Maybe it should just be a pleasant experience for once."

"What do you want from me."

"Just show up. I'm sending you an e-mail with all the information."

"And if I don't?"

"One way or another, you'll be sending him a pretty clear message. Bye, Cobb."

~*~

A sweet summer breeze sent the Chinese lanterns swaying over the grassy path. The guests arrived, following strains of music through the trees to an open field. Long white tables stretched under the festive lights, laden with food and drink. A wooden dance floor had been laid down and a band had already set up their instruments.

"Wow." Joshua said, emerging from the path, before turning back to help his pregnant wife the last few steps.

"This is so surreal." Elaine agreed, wrapping her hands around his bicep. "After all this time and he just...whisks us away to this? Do you think he's in the mob?"

"Maybe."

The other guests trickled in and for lack of their hosts, took up slender champagne glasses to sip.

"You must be Penny."

"Oh, your Ariadne's mother, you look just like that picture she had in her room for ages." She smiled and they shook hands. "She was thrilled you could make it."

"I don't know why there has to be such...secrecy. I feel like I barely know her anymore."

"She hasn't changed much." Penny smoothed down the folds of her dress. "Guess she just grew up."

"And this man..."

"He's all right." Penny frowned. "Not my cup of tea, but no one asked me, did they?"

"I'm asking."

"Well...he's a blank. Got her involved in this whole...secret business. I don't know. But he treats her well enough, she always seems happy when I see her, so what do I know?"

"Yusaf." Eames hissed from behind a tree. "What are you doing here?"

"I was invited." He grinned. "Very nice of them."

"Ah. That's...good."

"You don't have to hide. It's a party, not an ambush."

"So you say." But he did come out and start to scan the crowd. "My god, look! It's a whole crow of Arthurs."

"His brothers. Nice men. Confused."

"Good to know I'm not the only one." Eames took up a glass of champagne. "I never would have pictured it. Arthur was the runt of the litter. They're all huge, aren't they?"

"Ladies and gentleman, if could have your attention please. " The band leader stepped up to the microphone. "Your hosts have asked me to convey their joy at having so many of their loved ones join them. This morning at 11 am, they were married by a justice of the peace. You have been invited here to celebrate this occasion with them."

Conversation rose to fever pitch.

"And here they are now!" The band leader pointed desperately out into the field. "Won't everyone put their hands together for the happy couple!"

Stepping into the halo of the party's light, the couple was utterly composed. Ariadne's creamy fluttering dress gave her an ethereal look, complimented by Arthur's usual sleek lines. They parted through the crowd, untouchable and took to the dance floor. The band struck up a soft song and they danced in wide, arching circles until everyone was pushed to fringes of the dance floor.

It was only when the song ended that they acknowledged the crowd.

"Thanks for coming." She looked out over the crowd. "Oh! Mom, come here let me introduce you!"

Slowly, people found their voices again and the band played on.

"It's nice to finally meet you...Robert Morris was it?"

"You have a good memory for voices." Arthur shook her hand. "I apologize. We were in a tricky situation."

"Mhm." She looked him over carefully. "Well, he is attractive."

"Mom!"

"What?"

"Arthur!" His mother pushed threw the crowd, the rest of the family trailing behind her. Her eyes were suspiciously wet and she stood, just staring at him for a long moment.

"Mother." He put a hand out tentatively and almost toppled over when she pulled him into a hard hug.

"I couldn't breath when I saw you. It was like seeing a ghost." She wiped at her eyes. "You look just like Caleb."

"Mother, this is Ariadne." He pulled his bride forward.

"Ah, the 'we'." She hugged her too. "Thank you for bringing our boy back to us."

"Oh, I didn't do anything." Ariadne protested, returning the hug.

"A mother knows."

"Son." His father shook his hand firmly.

"Father."

"Sis!" Joshua pounded him on the back. "Look at you! All grown up with a real girl and everything."

"Josh..." Elaine touched his arm. "Leave off. It's nice to meet you, Ariadne."

"You too."

By the time the band leader was pleading for everyone to take their seats for dinner, emotion was running high. Arthur collapsed into his seat while Ariadne poured them both full glasses of wine.

"We only have to do this once, right?" He whispered to her when she settled next to him.

"That's what I've heard." She assured him. "If it makes you feel better, Eames still thinks this is all an elaborate set up to kill him."

"Actually, it does a little. Is that why he's hiding behind the meat carving station?"

"I asked Daphne to walk up behind him and breath heavily every so often." After the last job in Guam, she wasn't feeling much compassion for the forger either.

"I love you." He said very sincerely.

"Love you too." She started to say something, but her jaw snapped closed.

"What?"

"Brace yourself." She warned and then it was too late.

"Uncle Arthur!" The young girl was all pointy elbows and knees, swathed in yards of yellow chiffon as she bounced to his side. "Do you remember me?"

"Yes." He said hoarsely. "I remember you very well, Phillipa."

"I was worried you'd forget." She was suddenly shy, stepping back. "Daddy said you wouldn't though."

"He was right. We spent a lot of time together, when you were much smaller."

"I remember! You took me to the park and made pancakes. Every Sunday morning." She squinted as if she could see it in front of her.

"Yes. You have an impressive memory."

"Thanks!" She turned and stamped her foot impatiently. "C'mon, Dad! Hurry up."

"Good boy." Ariadne breathed out.

Dom emerged from the crowd, a child latched onto his hand.

"I hear congratulations are in order." He stood stiffly, but there was a smile lingering on his lips.

"Thank you for coming." She got up and pulled him into a brisk hug. "And the children! You must be James."

"Hi." He shied into his father's side.

"He's going through a phase." Phillipa announced.

"Phillipa why don't you take your brother and get something to eat? I'll be right there."

"Grown up talk." She wrinkled her nose. "Uh..it was nice to see you again Uncle Arthur."

She gave him a quick hug. His eyes slid closed and only opened again after she'd dragged her brother away.

"She's beautiful." Ariadne offered.

"Takes after her grandmother." Dom shifted back on his heels. "So why Ireland?"

"We like the climate." Arthur stood, putting a possessive hand around his wife's waist.

"And the architecture." She beamed up at him until he dropped a kiss on her forehead. "It's been good for us."

"I can see that." Dom took a half step forward. "I wanted...when I saw you, I thought you should know... I think she would have been proud of you."

"Proud of me?" Arthur's grip tightened, but Ariadne only moved in closer to him.

"For finding someone. She had this thought after you left that we'd ruined you somehow." Dom swallowed. "I told her, she was wrong. That you were always stronger than she gave your credit for. If she could see you now..."

"But she can't." Arthur cut in. "You can."

"I'm proud of you." He rephrased with a half-smile. "You should come back stateside once and a while. We'd like it if you visited. I never told you...Phillipa never forgot you."

"Girl's got no taste then." Eames interrupted, taking Dom's elbow. "Don't tell me all it took to get you out of hiding was a wedding? If I had known that I would have invited you to mine."

"Which one?" Ariadne laughed. "Where is Jessica anyway?"

"At home." Eames demurred. "Maybe."

"Maybe?" Arthur raised an eyebrow.

"Just you wait and see! Wives are slippery things, darling."

"Not this one." Dom said seriously. "You can see it in her eyes."

"Well in that case..." Eames snatched up a set of filled glasses and passed them around. "A toast to the happy couple. May you grow old, fat and happy together!"

The company obligingly raised their glasses and drank deeply.

"A kiss!" Someone yelled and the chant was taken up.

"Why are they all staring at us?" Ariadne asked him with a wink.

"Quick. Kiss me."

He drew her in and under the dancing lantern, dipped her into a deep kiss to the welcoming roar of the crowd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic was highly experimental for me. Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
